Take to the Skies
by zunarj5
Summary: A Pacific Rim WWII AU where Hermann Gottlieb is a Squadron Leader in the R.A.F. and Newton Geiszler is a Lieutenant in the U.S. Air Force. Angst and romance ensues in a time of war.
1. A Rousing Start

Squadron Leader, Hermann Gottlieb emerged from a Spitfire and strode towards the barracks, loosening his white scarf. He spotted a new face in the distance. A figure of short stature, with thick dark hair, glasses, and an open face. It was plain that he wanted to speak with him.

"Squadron Leader, sir?" the man said as he approached. Gottlieb stopped in front of him and they looked eachother square in the eyes.

"American, eh?" The shorter, dark-haired man ignored the blatant observation.

"Lieutenant Newton Geiszler, reporting for duty, sir!" Gottlieb curled his upper lip slightly at Geiszler's pronunciation of "LOO-tenant." They shook hands.

"Yes, I am Squadron Leader, Gottlieb. Commander Pentecost did say you'd be arriving soon. I'm afraid it slipped my mind. Well, I gather he sent you here for training after you left Germany in '39." He was struck by the spattering of near-invisible freckles all over the man's face.

"Yessir." Geiszler tried not to stare at his new superior's pale, chiseled face and cleared his throat as quietly as he could.

"Your training and active service in the American Air Force has been stellar, so he tells me. And you were recommended to him by your superior there, I understand."

"That's right, sir." God, Geiszler hoped he wasn't blushing. The man's voice was like hot tar and gravel on a summer's day, for Christ sake.

"He also mentioned a special mission regarding...biological warfare by the enemy."

"Yes." Geiszler nodded his head, feeling slightly more important.

"Carry on. You'd better get settled in."

"Thank you, sir." Newton Geiszler watched the man walk past him. Gottlieb was a bit taller and a good deal thinner. "Damn," he thought to himself, "He would have to be handsome as hell, wouldn't he?"

Days passed as hectically as could be expected during wartime. Lieutenant Geiszler eased into his new environment with great alacrity, making friends in all ranks with his enthusiasm and eccentricity. At first, Gottlieb hardly noticed but soon it began to annoy him. He was not that sort of person who could schmooze and laugh and joke with the boys. He wasn't popular with his men. Respected, no doubt, but certainly not the kind of superior officer they made friends with. He'd watch Geiszler from across the mess, regaling the other men with tales of his adventures.

About a fortnight after that, one of their fellow pilots had been shot down. Everyone was feeling rather low. Gottlieb stepped outside for a smoke. He had been standing for several minutes in the twilight when something caught his eye. Someone was slipping out to one of the planes. Gottlieb made stealthy haste to discover it was Geiszler with a bucket of white paint. He clapped a hand on the back of the lieutenant's shoulder.

"Christ, you gave me a heart attack!" Geiszler gasped.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I was going to paint a message for Officer Duffy. You know, he may be gone but he's still with us."

"Well, that's very noble of you, but painting one of our aircraft is against regulations. You know that. Put the paint back at once." Gottlieb, in that blue evening glow, took the lieutenant's breath away. He looked younger somehow, not as ravaged by the stress of war.

"Fine," Geiszler sighed as Gottlieb turned away. But then the latter stopped in his tracks, his back towards the lieutenant. Smoke drifted upwards.

"You'd better get some rest. The C.O. thinks it'll be a long day tomorrow."

"Yes sir." How was Geiszler supposed to sleep now? All he could think of was the man's face, and the fact that he'd said something kind to him.

Then came the time when they both flew on the same mission; a day Gottlieb was dreading. He'd watched Geiszler in a skies and cursed himself for admiring his style of flying and his remarkably skilled control of the plane. On one occasion, after Lt. Geiszler landed, he even said to him "I say, you handle the kite jolly well, especially well in a beehive. And the beatup was one of the tightest I've ever seen."

"Huh?" Gottlieb started to blush, which didn't go unnoticed by the lieutenant. He wasn't very good at giving compliments and having to repeat it for the sake of clarification was almost painful.

"In plain English, I said you handle the plane well in close proximity to other planes and the field."

"Oh, uh, thanks...uh, sir. I guess I have to get used to your slang." They both walked off in opposite directions as quickly as possible. Geiszler gritted his teeth.

But now, they walked onto the field together, preparing to take off. Up in the air, their mission was the main focus of their attention. A dogfight was imminent and everyone was more nervous than usual. Geiszler was excited, almost giddy, to take on the enemy. There they were, the Jerries were in full view, approaching fast. As planned, the Squadron parted, some went higher, some lower. But, Geiszler had other plans. Not that he had planned it before they took to the air, but the opportunity presented itself and was too good to miss. His gunner was for it too, so they suddenly dipped to the left of their formation like a shot.

"Geiszler, Geiszler, you'll get yourself killed!" Gottlieb bellowed into his radio. "Get back here, man! That's an order!" But the lieutenant had switched off his radio.

"Blast!" Geiszler was distracting the enemy, dodging enemy fire and allowing his fellow men to fire at them from all angles. Gottlieb swooped round and locked onto the enemy's plane that was about to annihilate Geiszler. It dropped like a flaming stone.

"He's giving us time to get at them from behind, sir!" Gottlieb's gunner yelled to him.

"Dammit, he's right!" Gottlieb's men were all following suit. Two, three, four enemy aircraft went down. They'd won this fight fair and square and there was much cheering on the radios. They all landed on the field a short while later. Geiszler was being patted on the back and there was plenty of joy all round. Gottlieb was pissed as hell. He practically ran up to the cocksure lieutenant.

"You damned fool! How dare you disobey orders!'

"We won that one, didn't we?"

"That's not the point! You could have gotten us all killed!" Gottlieb did not like having to yell at the man. The man with such a bright face, happy eyes, and rugged looks.

"I knew what I was doing!" Geiszler shouted, almost feeling turned on, arguing with the pale, stern man.

"You may be a talented pilot, but anything can happen out there!"

"Just because you're the superior officer doesn't mean you know better!" And that was it, Gottlieb stormed into the building, headed into his office and slammed the door. Later that evening, music and celebration increased in volume until Gottlieb snapped. He stormed into the mess.

"Christ, it's not as if we won the war!" Everyone stopped to look up at him and he felt as if his insides just melted when they almost never did. Geisler, who was at the center of the room, looked straight at him, just as embarrassed as the Squadron Leader; his puppy dog eyes were almost apologetic. "Everyone back to their barracks!" Gottlieb added forcefully. He headed back to his room. The music and conversation died a bit and after a quarter of an hour it had dissipated completely. It was a silly thing to say, ordering everyone to return to their barracks like that, especially as he wasn't the Wing Commander, but he thought that putting his foot down would make him feel better. It didn't. All he could think of was Geiszler's face. His stupid, happy, quirky, hunky face. Damn him!

Next morning Gottlieb was up bright and early. He looked like hell. He dialed up Pentecost.

"Commander Pentecost, sir?" Gottlieb said sternly. "Squadron Leader, here. I must lodge a complaint about Lieutenant Geiszler."

"Oh?" Pentecost had anticipated this but it was not his problem if they couldn't work together.

"He's insubordinate, scruffy, and a rabble-rouser," Gottlieb growled down the phone.

"What's he done that's so terrible?"

"Well," he fumed, "I caught him trying to paint a Spitfire, yesterday he disobeyed my strict orders to keep formation, nearly killing us all, and last night he blared music until the small hours until I had to come along and order him to stop."

"I supposed he might clash with you that way." Gottlieb shook his head.

"Spiffing!" he grummbled. "Stacker, old chap, you've got to take him off my hands. He's a menace. Can't you get him transferred to another base?"

"No, he's far more important to us where he is. I'm afraid I can't change it. You'll just have to find a way to work together." Gottlieb put his head in his hands. "Just talk to him about it."

"Alright, sir," he sighed, "Goodbye, sir."

"How does one communicate with a wild animal?" he said to himself.


	2. Communication

Several days had passed since the very public falling out between Geiszler and Gottlieb. Every time they came within 20 yards of eachother they headed in the opposite direction or looked the other way. The Squadron Leader purposefully put them on polar opposite shifts. One horrifying moment, during a particularly crowded day in the mess, both of them had their heads down in anticipation of seeing one another and actually bashed into each other, knocking Geiszler's black rimmed glasses to the floor. The crowd of uniforms parted like a frightened school of fish. Geiszler panicked. He was on his knees fumbling for his glasses. Gottlieb picked them up without thinking and handed them to him. The former looked up with a mixture of horror, surprise, and admiration.

"Thank you, sir." Gottlieb gave the tiniest upward jerk of his head as if to say "don't mention it" and turned away. Another solid day of total avoidance followed. And then, there was nothing for it. Squadron Leader Gottlieb saw the Lieutenant sitting on his own in the mess (the one rare occasion) and decided to live up to his grand title and make a move. 'How' did not come into it. Sitting in relatively close proximity was all he could manage. Geiszler had finished eating and was now absorbed in a notebook of some kind.

"Bloody dog meat," Gottlieb mumbled, looking down at his food until he dared to lift his eyes to a peripheral position. "What are you smiling at, Lieutenant?"

"I kinda like to see you rattled," Lt. Geiszler smirked across the table. Gottlieb pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow.

"I gathered that. Why exactly? Or will I regret that question?"

"I just like to see you have some emotion."

"Just because I don't flail about and boast and talk incessantly doesn't mean I don't have any emotion."

"Stiff upper lip, sure, sure," Geiszler looked up hoping for a response and and didn't get one so he added, "I also got a kick out of hearing you swear right now."

"Oh?" Gottlieb looked up. He suppressed a little thrill that shuddered up his spine and down to his groin simultaneously.

"Same reason; I like to see you're human and not just a walking uniform."

"Must you be so impertinent?"

"Sorry. You know, I'm totally aware you outrank me, but can't we just talk like I do with everybody else? You know, man to man?"

"That's not how it's done here," Gottlieb said, returning to his disgusting food.

"Sorry," Geiszler said with a limp mock salute.

"At any rate, I can't believe you'd speak to your American superiors this way."

"Not everyone does, of course, but our class structure isn't as rigid."

"Perhaps it ought to be."

"Why, so we can make everyone else feel awkward, like you do?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You don't exactly make people feel welcome."

"This war isn't about making people feel welcome."

"Well yeah, but no, I mean, shouldn't we try to be friends as much as we can? We're facing the enemy together."

"No."

"That's it. No." Geiszler made a shrugging gesture with his hands.

"If any of us become friends it will be painful later on if we have to lose one another. You saw what happened when we lost Duffy."

"But you can't just not make friends with people because you're scared to feel heartbreak when they're gone. That's not how it works."

"It's better that way," Gottlieb said, looking into the other man's eyes for an eternally long nanosecond.

"So, because you're scared to lose someone, you're just going to be a cold fish?" Gottlieb sprung up from the table, gripping his plate, cursing himself for ever talking to the man in the first place.

"Please don't go," Geiszler said, reaching out to his superior officer. They made eye contact again. Gottlieb sat back down slowly. "Listen, I know we got started off on the wrong foot, but can't we just get along? We don't even have to be friends."

"Fine." Geiszler's open notebook suddenly caught Gottlieb's eye. He suddenly realized it was chock-full of beautiful drawings of octopus, squid, chambered nautilus, and many other cephalopods. "Did you draw those?" He couldn't hide the awe in his voice.

"Yeah," Geiszler said with a sheepishly sexy grin, passing the notebook over to him.

"These are really splendid," Gottlieb said, thumbing through the object's battered pages. Geiszler took a very deep silent breath.

"Were you an artist in civvy street?"

"Huh? Oh, was I an artist before the war? No, I just kinda dabble at it. I'm a marine biologist." Gottlieb nodded, still staring at the drawings.

"I did my arms like that too, ya know," Geiszler says, pulling up his sleeves. The higher ranking officer just stared transfixed as he was met with the sight of Geiszler's forearms. On the left one, an octopus, its head up near the crook of his arm, the tentacles winding around his flesh down to his wrist. On the right arm, a squid, its more slender tendrils running down to the wrist straight and then curling at the end. "I drew the originals and this Chinese darb copied them onto my arms for me."

"Darb?" Gottlieb said, finally looking up.

"Yeah, you know, a great, wonderful person."

"Ah." Geiszler had gotten a whole array of reactions to his tattoos. His father put up the newspaper even higher than usual, his mother gasped, and everyone else thought the tattoos were fantastic, but no one ever had looked like they were actually (possibly) turned on by them before. He wanted to look under the table to check, but the only sensible part of his brain didn't let him.

"They are very nice indeed, but," he swallowed, "How could you ruin your beau– your body with tattoos like that?"

"I didn't ruin it," Geiszler said, not hiding how offended he was. "Science, biology is my passion. It's my work. I'm proud of that. I want people to see it."

"I suppose I do see your point," Gottlieb conceded. It was the only time he'd ever felt embarrassed in front of, let alone _by_, anyone he outranked. He teetered on the edge of speech for a few seconds as Geiszler rolled his sleeves back down.

"May I ask? This...special mission, Pentecost mentioned..." Gottlieb began in a soft and serious tone, "biological warfare by the Germans – What's that about exactly?" Geiszler leaned forward enthusiastically, like a little boy conspiring to pull a prank on his teacher. Gottlieb fought the urge to pull back in disgust, but he just couldn't pull away. He was drawn to this artistic, idiosyncratic aerial dog-fighting biologist. This was one equation that did not make sense. How could a man of such contradicting disciplines and temperament be of any interest to him? It was the challenge. There, he just admitted it. A mathematical equation. But the figures didn't come out. There was a missing factor. It made no sense that a rational emotionally repressed professor of mathematics who found himself in the midst of a war, commanding men who didn't like him, instead of hanging onto a chalkboard for dear life, hoping the undergraduates listened to him, should actually be _interested _in this ace piloting scientist with more energy than a jet engine of a Spitfire they both flew. And yet, this was the sum of the equation. Their heads were now nearly five inches apart.

"It all started with this report filed by a U.S. navy captain. He and his men reported seeing giant octopus tentacles wind around the battleship," Geiszler said slowly, making a twirling gesture with his right index finger. Gottlieb's eyes widened. "And then, four months later, a submarine's crew reported seeing what they thought was a giant squid. This was dismissed as the crew just being overwrought, ya know, too many hours at sea kinda thing. Anyway, this would have been filed away in some dank basement storage room but the two incidents happened within fifteen nautical miles of eachother." Gottlieb caught the way the wind was blowing.

"Perhaps we should go to my office to continue this conversation." Gottlieb and Geiszler got a few odd looks from fellow pilots who had grown accustomed to seeing them either far apart or yelling at one another. Once they were in the former's office and the door was shut, Geiszler returned to his story.

"Anyway, the reason this information was passed on to my superior (naming no names) and then Pentecost and then to me is because –"

"You have the scientific knowledge to investigate this further because they know this is suspicious."

"Yep. They think it's another form of biological warfare. Giant squid, sure, but the giant octopus before it? I mean the two together is pretty weird, right?"

"And what do they expect you to do exactly?"

"Travel to the location of the attacks and see what I can find?"

"Ah, so the reason Pentecost wants you here is because we're not exactly the most 'hot' area (in terms of the German intelligence." Geiszler nodded his head. "When do you leave?"

"Next week. They've been keeping me posted."

"And how exactly _do _they suspect German involvement? Surely these are just freaks of nature."

"No, that's the thing! They've only attacked allied forces. There were German crafts in very close proximity. If there was any kind of attack on German ships, it would have been too big a disturbance to miss. It would have popped up on the radar."

"This sounds very dangerous," he said, rubbing his jawline thoughtfully.

"Oh, I can handle it." Gottlieb pursed his lips til they were pale.

"What's that look for? Uh, erm, sir." Geiszler swallowed.

"It sounds like a crackpot mission you'd enjoy."

"You understand me more than you think you do." They shared a smile for the first time.

"I don't think that was ever an issue." The superior officer was beginning to feel more equal, which was both maddening and agreeable.

"Well," the lieutenant said, getting up to go, "I should probably get forty winks before my next shift."

"Geiszler?" The addressee turned around. "You will be careful, won't you?" The American was in awe and it must have showed on his face. Oh God, did he feel it change his face. He felt his ears move back ever so slightly and his jaw loosen. And he was sure his pupils dilated. Thanks a bunch, autonomic nervous system. He had been addressed by his surname, and not his title which said 'I outrank you.' This said 'you're important to me.'

"Sure will," he said in a pathetic effort to sound nonchalant. Gottlieb gave the slightest hint of a smile in acknowledgement. Geiszler gave a confident nod and got the hell out before he said something stupid. He lay down in his bunk almost too excited to sleep like he was five and his birthday was around the corner. What kind of joy-laced and hope-inducing conversation was that? He tried not to read too much into it, but those eyelashes were killing him. How does a man with that much authority have such delicate lashes? So unfair.

Gottlieb still had an equation to solve.


	3. Plummet

Yet another successful mission for Geiszler. Gottlieb was only slightly annoyed by his understandable arrogance and actually smiled (if you can call it that) during Geiszler's rousing mess hall performance of _When That Man is Dead and Gone _with several other men joining in.

"Hardly Al Bowlly," Gottlieb said to the lieutenant, unable to hide his amusement.

"Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad," Geiszler said, daring to give him a gentle punch on the shoulder,

"Some notes were more professional than others.:

"Coming from you, that's compliment."

"Al Bowlly," Gottlieb said thoughtfully, "Another casualty of war."

"So," Geiszler said cautiously, "You like the mellow stuff, huh? The crooners?"

"I prefer classical. But when it comes to popular music, I suppose I do prefer the softer melodies." Geiszler tried not to react, but he felt himself blushing at how damn adorable that was.

"What's your first name?" he blurted out. Shit.

"Hermann." Geiszler could already taste it on his lips. Don't make eye contact. Don't make eye contact. Shit. He nodded as if he wasn't fighting a full body squirm of delight and embarrassment.

"And, uh," Gottlieb said softly, "Your name is Newton."

"Uh-huh." Great, now what, genius?

"Did you want me to take you off duty so you can rest up for your mission?"

"No, no," Geiszler said, feeling very relieved that Hermann – uh, Gottlieb – changed the subject.. "I don't want to get lazy. I need to stay in the zone." Gottlieb nodded.

"Good man." Geiszler felt a heat surge in his chest. The Squadron Leader finished his drink and made to leave.

"Oh, and Geiszler?"

"Yeah?" he said, trying not to be too hopeful.

"Don't do any more victory rolls over the airfield."

"Sorry, sir." They parted ways for the evening. Hermann. Hermann. Hermann. He said it so many times in his head he nearly called another pilot that when he said goodnight. The following evening, about 17:00, he was preparing to go on another mission when opportunity knocked. He passed Gottlieb's office. He tried to handle and opened it. He was in and shut the door, swiftly and quietly behind him. Gottlieb was resting after his own mission so he knew he wouldn't get caught. On the desk was Gottlieb's dictaphone. With a grin picked up the mic and switched on the device. He pressed record.

"Hermann, if you get this, I'm going off on a solo mission tonight. I overheard what you said about 'pilots shouldn't go out on their own – at least two aircraft per mission.' Well, I think that's bull. I know I'm right and I'm going to prove it. Over and out."

He turned off the machine and left. About 18:00, Gottlieb woke up and headed into the mess. He overheard a small group of men talking about Geiszler.

"I saw him head out on his own."

"Didn't anyone follow him?"

"Not that I could see."

"Was it a special mission? You know, from Squadron Leader Grumpy. They've been pretty chummy lately."

"What was that?" Gottlieb cut in.

"Nothing, sir."

"Did I hear you say Geiszler's out on his own?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"About 17:05, sir."

"Blast!" Gottlieb got up and headed into his office to pace. He leaned on his desk, worrying himself sick.

"Wait a moment," he thought, "The receiver's not on the dictaphone the way I left it." He rewound it and pressed play. After his own voice stopped, Newton's message played. Gottlieb's face went ashen.

"Oh God," Gottlieb said softly to himself. "What have you done?"

19:36

Gottlieb walked back and forth so many times he was almost dizzy. How could he do this? How could such an intelligent man risk his life like this? The fool! This was agony.

19:58

A fresh-faced new recruit knocked on the door. Gottlieb was sitting at his desk head burried in his hands.

"What?" he growled.

"You asked me to tell you if Geiszler had come back yet."

"Well?"

"No sign of him yet, sir."

"You knocked on my ruddy door to tell me he's not here!"

"Sorry, sir." Gottlieb picked up his mug and hurled it against the wall, smashing it to pieces. The recruit got the heck out of the way.

21:03

Geiszler walked in relieved and confident, but a little shaken. One of the men stopped him.

"He's pretty brassed off, mate."

"Gottlieb?"

"Yeah," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Better get in there." Gottlieb had his back to the door. Geiszler cleared his throat. The Squadron Leader spun around, face more drawn than usual, eyes like hellfire.

"What the _hell _ did you think you were doing?!"

"Now, man, listen, don't go berserk."

"Excuse me? I'll do the talking. How dare you! What a bloody stupid thing to do. No backup. No support, just completely exposed. Anything could have happened."

"I know," Geiszler said sheepishly, looking at his feet.

"What the hell _did_ happen?

"I went looking for the Hun. Stragglers. I thought I could single them out. Catch them on their own. Thought maybe I could bring one down because they wouldn't be expecting just one of us."

"And?" Gottlieb breathed, a menacing but relived look on his face.

"I, uh," Geiszler swallowed," found a Hun and got him. But then another saw me, came after me. I got so turned around dodging him I almost got lost. That's why it took so long for me to get back." Gottlieb's anger had subsided for the most part but the lieutenant knew he was not free to go. His superior turned around. Geiszler shifted his feet and heard the broken shards of mug scrape the floor. This made Gottlieb look up. They locked eyes again and Gottlieb broke the gaze quickly.

"I though I – we lost you." Geiszler audibly swallowed. Oh God, how wonderful that was to hear. He felt the urge to sit down, but stood rooted to the spot.

"Don't ever do that again."

"No, sir."

"You must be dead beat."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed." He couldn't go now. Not like this.

"Sir?" Gottlieb sat back down.

"Hmph?"

"I was thinking. Why don't you put us on the same shift again." Gottlieb looked up. Neither of them bothered to look away. Even though Geiszler wanted to stir feelings in Gottlieb he didn't realize just how upset he'd get. Upset enough to break a mug. Upset enough to actually yell. Upset enough to look at him like that.

"I will indeed." Geiszler pressed his lips together, mumbled 'thank you' softly, and left. Gottlieb folded his arms and let his head fall forward. Next thing he knew it was morning.

" I'm stiff as hell." There was a little package before him. Something squarish, wrapped in brown paper. He opened it. Inside was a pair of women's stockings. Was this some kind of joke? A note with them read:

"S. L. Gottlieb – Can't say sorry enough about last night. Here is a pair of stockings to wear on your next flight. A Canadian buddy of mine gave me the idea. They really keep your legs warm up there after you reach 20,000 feet. And no one has to know about it. Keep them. Sorry again. – Geiszler."

No one had done anything like this for him in years. Most probably never. This little gesture. He almost felt bad for yelling at him. The stupid, bloody, infuriating, gorgeous fool. Later that evening, the time came to go on their first mission in weeks, Hermann put the stockings on. He felt like such an ass, but it actually made him smile. He took a deep breath and headed out onto the field. Geiszler was pacing outside.

"Geiszler, what's wrong?"

"My gunner is sick. He's not going anywhere."

"Nash? Yes, he's been overworked lately. Overeager. I'm not surprised really. Brought it on himself."

"I've got to wait for someone else." Gottlieb took a deep breath as he looked at Geiszler's face in the dying sunlight. He knew he was going to regret this.

"I'll go with you." Geiszler's faced Gottlieb head on. He fought every urge to touch him.

"Are you serious? You'd really do that?"

"Of course. I'll take the gun turret. I know how much you want to fly the Boulton Paul Defiant."

"You're the greatest. We're gonna own those Hun," Geiszler said, holding out his hand. Gottlieb shook his hand warming, squeezing it as firmly as he dared. Geiszler's body was electrified with happiness and excitement.

"Right! Let's be off!" Gottlieb said, clapping a hand on the lieutenant's shoulder as they strutted toward the plane in tandem. Geiszler started the ignition, the wheel chocks were cleared away, and Gottlieb settled into the gun turret.

"Ready, sir?"

"Ready when you are!" After a short taxi, the plan took off. Radio communication was buzzing as they prepared for battle.

"Where's the Squadron Leader?"

"He's here with me."

"I'm acting as gunner tonight, Officer Poulton."

"Nice to have you with us, sir." The radios went off.

"You've been putting a good word in for me?"

"One or two."

"Thank you for the stockings."

"Didn't know if you knew about that trick. And I figured you probably couldn't get them here anyway."

"They're very welcome. I appreciate it."

"Don't mention it." Gottlieb smiled ever so slightly. It was silent up there as they watched the sun disappear, gliding in that ethereal beauty.

"It's so sad this view has to be wasted on killing other men in planes."

"I know, I know, man. It makes no sense."

"It's a shame we couldn't simply fly for pleasure." Geiszler tried to focus on Gottlieb saying "pleasure" and raised his eyebrows. Something came into view and he switched the radio on.

"Here they are! a voice said.

"I'm taking us down."

"I wouldn't do that –," Gottlieb grumbled.

"Honestly, I know what I'm doing – don't be a rear end driver." Whoa, that sounded inappropriate. He took them down and swooped up and around behind the Hun. A Spitfire came round and fought off a Jerry who was heading straight for Geiszler and Gottliebb.

"Thanks, man," he said on the radio.

"No problem, Yankie." Geiszler laughed.

"Keep your eye on that line of Hun to the right."

"I know, sir, I know! Geez!" Gottlieb started to fire up and behind at an advancing plane which retreated fairly quickly.

"Nice grouping, sir."

"Much obliged." Geiszler headed to the left, level with an enemy plane.

"I'm gonna head under, so start firing."

"Don't order me about!"

"Sorry, but I've gotta."

"Go ahead." Geiszler faked out a german by jerking the plane up and then diving.

"Now!" Gottlieb started firing with everything he had. It seemed that their plane was going so slow but in reality Geiszler managed to take them up just as the plane went down behind them.

"Just about missed our wing!"

"Oh damn!"

"What?" Gottlieb yelled at the same time to see a German plane hovering just above where their target had been. There was a nano second in which to react as the enemy aimed and fired. Geiszler took them to the right, but they were hit. Gottlieb called out in pain.

"Newton, Newton,' he cried."Christ! Are you alright?! Talk to me!"

"Just my leg."

"Oh God! How bad is it?"

"You'd better take us down." Geiszler did as he said, repeating "Oh God" about a dozen times.

"Are you with me, man?"

'Yes," Gottlieb said, great stress and strain in his voice. "I've put the fire out. The kite's alright. _Ah. _The damage doesn't look too bad."

"To hell with the plane! What about you?"

"I'm alright."

"Is it bleeding?"

"Yes."

"Put some pressure on it, for Christs' sake!"

"I am! I'm tying it up!"

"Hold on man, not long now." Finally, Geiszler, who felt like his organs were strangling him internally, brought the plane down on the airfield.

"I'm coming in to get you! Don't move!"

"I don't have much choice."

"Hermann! Christ, it looks bad."

"Probably looks worse than it is."

"Can you use your right leg to push yourself up?"

"Yes." Geiszler helped him off with his helmet, mask and vest. He reached his right arm around Gottlieb's torso and the Squadron Leader wrapped his left arm around Geiszler's neck. Together they hoisted Gottlieb out of the gun turret.

"For such a skinny guy you're kinda heavy." Gottlieb smiled weakly but then suddenly grimaced when he momentarily put pressure on his damaged leg. Geiszler took all the weight he possibly could as he lowered them both to the ground. A green pilot ran up to them, seeing the blood on Gottlieb's uniform.

"Get a stretcher out here! Run!" The young man ran off at Geiszler's command. The lieutenant helped Gottlieb to lie down on the field, resting his head in his lap.

"Are the body snatcher's coming?"

"You're not that bad," Geiszler said, suddenly feeling emotional in the dying light. He could hardly see.

"No, I mean the stretcher bearers."

"Oh," Geiszler said, relieved. "They're coming now." He brushed Gottlieb's hair off of his temples and rested his fingers there.

"I'm sorry," he said, taking his hand.

"Don't be ridiculous, Geiszler," he said, squeezing his hand. The stretcher bearers took over and Geiszler got up, watching Gottlieb being hauled away. A tear tracked down his cheek. He'd never felt someone else's pain like this before. It must be his feelings for him. He didn't want to admit it, but they were so much alike. Both eccentric, scientific. If only it had been another gunner. No. That was wrong. Anyone's injury was terrible. He hated to see anyone suffer. But Hermann was different. Hermann was Hermann. He couldn't lose him. Not now. And Hermann was right. It hurt too much to care.


	4. White Lies and Hard Truths

Gottlieb lay in his hospital bed looking straight ahead. He didn't like what he saw. Lieutenant Geiszler was walking toward him with a big grin on his face, carrying a brown paper bag (presumably containing some sort of fruit), but anyone could see that he was very worn out indeed. He had terrible dark circles under his eyes, he needed a shave, his cheeks looked gaunt, his dark hair was a mess and his eyes were bloodshot. He had clearly not gotten much sleep since their plane had been hit and Gottlieb could have _sworn _the man had been crying.

"Hey, you don't look so bad!" Geiszler said, great relief in his voice.

'You look bloody awful. What have you been doing to yourself?" Geiszler looked genuinely hurt. When he hadn't been flying he'd been not sleeping and worrying himself sick about his superior officer, even though it was just a lousy leg wound. It wasn't like he was dying.

"I went on a dawn mission the same day we landed," he said, dropping the heavy bag on the bed, "And I just got back from another mission. So, thanks a lot."

"No, no, I didn't...I didn't mean to hurt your pride. I just thought you'd take better care of yourself after what we've been through." Geiszler's heart skipped a beat at his use of the word "we," but he stayed grumpy to make a point and sat down on the chair next to the bed.

"Kay."

"You look as though you haven't slept."

"Not much."

"Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"No."

"Please don't feel guilty about this," Gottlieb said, gesturing to his leg.

"How is it?"

"Not bad. Could have been worse. I'm lucky. Could have been amputated. It's only a bit of muscle loss and some burns." Geiszler looked up at him with a sad and regretful expression.

"It's my fault," he said, shaking his head.

"Don't be ridiculous. It was my idea to come up with you. These things happen."

"How long is it gonna take to heal?"

"I'll need to convalesce for a quite a few weeks before I can return to active duty."

"Son of a bitch," Geiszler mumbled to himself.

"It's no good saying that." Geiszler leaned back in the chair and felt something was hanging there. It was the pair of stockings he'd given him – one clean, one a bloody and shredded mess. He nearly burst into tears right then and there but bit his lip very hard. Gottlieb tapped him on the forearm.

"I lied and said they were from my girlfriend," he said with a mischievous look in his eyes. This encouraged Geiszler quite a bit and he attempted a smile.

"I brought you some grapes."

"I see that," Gottlieb said, not breaking eye contact. Geiszler was having trouble keeping his eyes open and looked away. _"The poor chap," _Gottlieb thought _"I had no idea this could have such an effect on him." _But he secretly hoped it would. He didn't mind the pain. The pain of seeing Geiszler beat himself up over it or the pain in his leg; seeing that someone cared was worth it. He didn't give the man the credit for having such a noble quality and felt very bad indeed that he hadn't done so before. He felt the urge to sooth him but was afraid of getting carried away. He didn't like making a scene. All he knew is that Geiszler cared. He cared about _him. _

"Now, about this mission of yours. You can't go on like this. You must rest up before you go. No more flying."

"Oh, come on," Geiszler protested.

"No more flying until you leave. That's an order."

"Yes, sir," Geiszler said with another limp salute. Gottlieb picked up the bag of grapes and took a few out.

"Very nice, thank you." Geiszler smiled, his chest moving in silent laughter. He'd never seen him eat, at least, not about food he didn't bitch about.

"Here," Gottlieb said, pushing the bag closer to Geiszler, "You need them more than I do."

"Nah, I'm not hungry."

"Go on," Gottlieb insisted. Geiszler jammed a few in his mouth. The former caught himself staring at his lips and hastily looked away. He tried to move and grimaced. Geiszler started.

"Are you alright?" he said, very concerned, "Do you want me to get the nurse?"

"No, I – could you help me to shift up a bit?"

"Yeah, of course," Geiszler said, getting up. He put his hands under Gottlieb's arms and hoisted him up while Gottlieb pushed up with his arms, letting his legs be dead-weight. They were so very close. It was deliciously intimate and Geiszler moved away as quickly as possible. He wasn't strong strong enough to resist temptation on so few hours of sleep.

"Thank you," Gottlieb said, hoping to God that Geiszler wouldn't notice how he was beginning to tent the bed-sheets. He lifted his right knee a little to make sure Geiszler couldn't see his involuntary reaction.

"Well, um, I suppose I'd better leave you in peace."

"No, stay for a bit." Geiszler tried desperately not to be too hopeful. But the urgency in Gottlieb's voice was _just..._

"I want you to write me when you're gone."

"Really?" Where the hell was this going?

"To make sure you're – everything is running smoothly." Of course, it's about the mission, not about him. Why would it be about anything else?

"Yeah, I will."

"I mean to say, your safety is as important as the mission itself."

"Thanks," Geiszler said, hoping he sounded sincere, but not gushing.

"It is a bit unorthodox, I know..."

"The mission, or writing letters to you?"

"Well, both, really." Oh man, being on good terms with this man is so awkward! Maybe they should argue, just to clear the air.

"I never asked you. What exactly will you be doing? Or is that top secret?"

"Well, sort of, I mean, I really shouldn't say anything, but it is pretty neat. So I'm gonna tell you."

"You're hopeless," Gottlieb said, with a smile, "I hope you're never interrogated."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence, sir."

"Can't be too careful. Careless talk and all that." Geiszler blew it off.

"Anyway, I'll be taking samples of the water, inspecting some of the submarine wreckage, hopefully I'll get a sighting."

"Can you swim?" Geiszler laughed.

"I'm flying over the site."

"Well, knowing you, you might end up in the drink."

"Hey, I brought us down ok!"

"I know, I know. Just try not to do anything stupid."

"When did I ever do anything stupid?" Geiszler snarked.

"Other than flying out on your own looking for Hun?" Geiszler rolled his eyes.

"Ok, ok. Don't be a geezer." They both laughed together, looking down like naughty school boys. Just then, the nurse came in. Geiszler sprang up. Gottlieb inhaled.

"Time to change your dressings, sir," the sister said commandingly, shooing Geiszler away.

"I'll say goodbye before I leave," he said, feeling awkward again.

"Please do," Gottlieb said, looking over the nurse. His face had a very pointed, earnest look. Geiszler nodded and left.

Now he was off flying duty officially, there was nothing to distract him from thinking about Gottlieb. _Hermann_. It felt like there was a giant barrier between them. The war, the mission, even the law. Ok, just stop. It's not like that. I mean, it felt like there was...something. Oh God, did it ever. Maybe it was all in his head; the intensity in Hermann's voice, the concern – it was just as saturated with emotion as the anger, the yelling. Maybe it was the way he communicated and he was reading too much into it. He paced until he couldn't stand up and then collapsed on his bed. "Hermann" was the last word in his head before he finally fell into a dead sleep.

Two days later, after a good deal of sleep interspersed with debating whether or not to go and see Gottlieb once a day (which he never did because he didn't want to seem like a total sap), it was time to head for Europe. He'd never spent so much time on his appearance in his life. He took ten minutes on his hair and just gave up, hurling his brush into his kit bag out of sheer frustration. I mean, how do you even polish shoes? Hermann would know. Can you iron uniforms? He tried straightening out his service dress but it had gotten pretty squashed and he just stared in the mirror shaking his head.

"Hermann's gonna think I look like a mess." On the contrary, when Geiszler walked through the door, Hermann nearly fell over and it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with his injury.

"You're standing!" Geiszler strode over to him, dropping his bag. He put a hand on his shoulder. Gottlieb was speechless and just stood there in his hospital gown and tightly fastened robe, leaning on his cane for dear life.

"Cleaned yourself up, I see." Hermann's attempt to be glib failed spectacularly.

"Oh, kind of," he lied through his teeth.

"I'd better sit down again. I've been up and about for a bit," Gottlieb said, backing up. Geiszler tried to help but Gottlieb waved him away. Newton was a bit offended.

"Sorry," Gottlieb said, "I don't like to be mollycoddled." It took all Geiszler's strength not to laugh out loud. Could he _be _anymore quaint? Geez.

"Sorry," he said, clenching his jaw. Gottlieb took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Geiszler suddenly became concerned again and sat in the chair across from him.

"It isn't going to be an easy recovery, is it?

"Nothing's easy," he said, eyes still closed. For the first time Geiszler looked at Hermann's bandages. There was a large swath of white bandage around his left calf and up over his knee. A few spots of blood were seeping through. Gottlieb opened his eyes to see Geiszler staring at his leg.

"Honestly, it'll be alright."

"Sure?"

"Sure." Geiszler believed him but he still knew it wouldn't be easy. He paused thoughtfully. "I was thinking about me – us – writing. We're not going to be able to say much. I mean, I can't go into too much detail about what I'm doing."

"Ah, yes. That's true. Well, just a few lines then." Geiszler nodded. The nurse came in again.

"What are you doing sitting back down again, Squadron Leader? You only just got up!"

"Alright, sister. I'm getting up." Geiszler stepped back to give him space. Gottlieb put all his weight on his cane and then started to use his good leg but stopped. He held out his hand to Newton, trying not to look him in the eye. Geiszler felt very honored and took his left hand in his right. Together, Gottlieb was able to stand up. The nurse, who was waiting at the end of the bed said to Geiszler "Why don't you take him for a walk down the corridor?"

"Sure thing, ma'am," he said, trying to hide his happiness. Not that he wanted to see Hermann in a weakened state, but helping him, being close to him was wonderful. And (Newton could feel his own heart pounding even harder) Hermann actually put his arm though his. He couldn't help but look up at him, he was just so beautiful and thankfully a little less pale.

"Do you have the time for this?"

"Yeah, I've got a few minutes," Geiszler said, not caring id he missed every train for a week just to experience this prolonged contact. They didn't say anything. They didn't have to. What seemed like a very awkwardly long and slow walk was in reality cruelly short, which is something they both realized as soon as they reached the doorway at the end of the hall.

"Well," Geiszler said, trying to be casual, "I'd better – oh, I left my kit bag by your bed."

"Let's walk back together," Gottlieb said all too desperately. Geiszler was overjoyed but said with a calmness and coolness that surprised even him, "Yeah, fine," but added with great tenderness, "If it's not too rough on you."

"I have to get back to my bed somehow," Gottlieb said with soft look on his face. Geiszler swallowed audibly and they turned back down the hall, looking straight ahead.

"You're gonna be able to fly again, right?"

"Oh yes, of course," Gottlieb said, encouraging himself as much as he was reassuring Newton.

"Ok, good, cuz then I would feel really guilty."

"Don't start that again," Gottlieb laughed. Another minute or two passed in silence, only less awkward this time. Newton was starting to really hate the idea of leaving. Such bad timing. He was really getting somewhere. Ok, maybe he wasn't but now was not a good time to leave. His heart sank when they approached the end of Gottlieb's bed. He felt Hermann's arm sip out of his and it filled him with dread. What if something terrible happened to one of them and that was it? This was just the worst. He'd always been good with goodbyes. They just never bothered him. But now, boy! did it ever!

"Kay, well, so...um."

"Good luck old chap." Oh man, don't make this worse by being adorable. Just say something cutting. Hurt my feelings. Make this easier. But he didn't. Of course. Gottlieb switched his cane over and stuck out his right hand. Geiszler shook it with respect and reluctantly let go. Their hands seemed to slip apart in slow motion. Geiszler slung his bag over his arm, smoothed down his uniform and squared his shoulders.

"How do I look?"

"Very strapping, indeed," Gottlieb said genuinely. God, do you _know_ you're killing me? Geiszler was speechless.

"Do be careful," Hermann said, not hiding his emotion anymore. Newton just totally caved, dropping his bag and embracing Hermann with all his might. How he'd wanted to feel his body close to his. So thin. Was he always like this? Yet he was warm – warm and inviting. And strong, hands like a vice, shoulders like a steel coat hanger. Hermann closed his eyes and savored every second. Geiszler was a little more stocky and muscular than himself but soft and caring. Gottlieb inhaled deeply. They had to stop. And they did. Geiszler reached down for his bag again and looked the man in the eye one last time. He could barely speak or he would definitely cry.

"Bye," he mouthed more than spoke. Gottlieb gave a swift, manly nod. He watched him walk down the hall.

A week passed and finally a letter came.

"S. L. Gottlieb. – I arrived safely. The guy Comm. P. set me up with to meet is a real piece of work. Not the most "savory" person, to coin a phrase you might use. He took me out on his carrier and I flew out to the location in question on my own. Yes, solo, but no Hun around though. Weather conditions on site atrocious. (Along with my handwriting, right?) Nothing too exciting so far except for odd substance on one piece of wreckage. I'll talk to you about it when I see you. Please God, write and tell me you're ok. – Lt. Geiszler."

Gottlieb clutched the letter in his hand, wrinkling it slightly as he leaned his head back against the cold hospital wall, shutting his eyes tightly. He wrote back the same day to the base that would pass the letter on for him.

"Lt. Gieszler. – Very glad you're in relative safety. Stay alert and trust no one. I am well. Though my leg has been troubling me a bit as I'm having trouble putting weight on it. The minor skin grafts make it very tender indeed. I confess I worry about being crocked up for life. But I'm keeping my spirits up as well as I can. Again, write soon. Try not to do anything foolish. Regards, S. L. Gottlieb."

Nearly another week went by and to Hermann's relief, Geiszler replied.

"S. L. Gottlieb. – Sorry to hear about your leg but just do as the nurse says. (By the look on her face I wouldn't mess with her.) And don't worry about being a "crock"; look at that guy Douglas Bader! He doesn't even have legs below the knee and he's still an ace pilot. Hang in there. I can't write you much because otherwise it will be blacked out, but I can say that there was a sighting. The shady guy I was with killed it. This is very serious. I'll tell you everything as soon as I get back. Take care. – Newton Geiszler."

He wrote back immediately:

"Newton – If you've got the data you need, hurry back for God's sake. Don't be a fool about this. Don't simply ignore the danger. Get the hell out. If you want to take that as an order, you're welcome to. I'm sure Comm. P. would tell you the same. Please heed me. Fondest regards, Hermann."

Perhaps it was too sentimental, too ardent, but he sent it. Bugger propriety, he just needed to write in that way in case...in case. He just couldn't think about it.

Another week passed. And another. Hermann was starting to panic. He slept, or rather didn't sleep, with the two letters under his pillow. On the 15th day he made his way to a telephone and got in touch with Pentecost. He came down that very day. He stood, large and powerful, framed in the doorway, impeccably dressed. Face more serious than usual. He hadn't heard a word from Geiszler.

"I thought we should talk in person," he said as he sat on the chair. He inquired after his leg but Hermann was far too impatient.

"I'm alright, I'm alright," he said brusquely, "What do you know thus far? What is your impression of the situation?"

"The mission has been going very well, but this lack of communication may not be a good sign."

"He may just be too busy to report to us – you – sir."

"Maybe," Pentecost said slowly, "but this is a very serious venture. There are many things that could go wrong."

"So you're saying I've lost one of my best pilots?"

"You need to prepare yourself that he may never be coming back." Gottlieb's face became very grave. God, no, please God no. This can't be happening. He couldn't breathe. He felt as if he'd be sick. He gritted his teeth and spoke.

"Thank you for keeping me informed, Commander," Gottlieb said softly. Pentecost patted him firmly on the shoulder and left.

"You will let me know if you hear anything?" Pentecost spoke over his immense shoulder.

"Assuredly." Gottlieb was alone again. He gingerly swung his legs over the bed, leaning over slightly, preparing to be sick. But the feeling passed. He suddenly put his head in his hands and wept. He hadn't done that since he was a child. He cursed himself for it. He felt shame for simply feeling. Newton wasn't just a good pilot, he was a good person. A bit misguided, reckless, eccentric, yes, even maddening, but intelligent. Newton challenged him in a way that was a gift. And now – that – _he_ – might be taken from him forever.


	5. Sea Dance

Lt. Geiszler was not having an easy time of it either. He had seen one giant octopus already and it scared the pants off him. Yet he was eager to fly down again, hoping to get more photographs. Preferably of another that was actually alive and not lying dead on Hannibal Chau's vast carrier. Chau was, as Stacker had said "not to be trusted." Although Newton only thought he was a little shifty, he was soon to find out the extent of his every-man-for-himself personality. But Newton's enthusiasm for it died when he received Gottlieb's last letter. Not only did he order him to come back to England, he said "fondest regards" and signed it "Hermann." Newton's heart pounded dangerously hard at this not so subtle affection. He tried to convince himself it was just a brotherly feeling that Hermann was projecting, but he couldn't shake the thrill of those words. Just the possibility of Hermann..._Hermann _having actual feelings, romantic feelings, for him gave him strength. He was torn between staying and gathering as much information as possible and rushing back into Hermann's proverbial arms. But as he was just going to leave his dingy lodgings to post a telegram to say he was on his way back soon, Hannibal Chau and his gang of unsavory workers were waiting for him in the hall. One look at them sent the landlady back into her room with a shriek and a slam.

"There's been another spotted out near where we were yesterday," Hannibal said in his gruff tones. Newton was frozen in his tracks.

"I was just going out to mail a telegram."

"No time. If we're going to haul this thing we've gotta go now." Geiszler slumped downstairs with reluctant speed. What he thought would be a short trip, a sort of octopus reconnaissance, became a week-long mission. By the seventh day at sea, Newton was on the verge of smacking himself over the head for not insisting on sending a telegram to Hermann. He stood at the bow of Chau's carrier when the man approached him.

"You're willing to stay out here a pretty long time," Chau probed yet again. He tried this every day in hope of understanding the ferocity of Newton's enthusiasm.

"Well, I want to get photographs of it and maybe study it before you chop it up in little pieces and ship it to Hong Kong like you did with the last one."

"You're that obsessed with the octopus?"

"Yeah. _And_ the fact that these happen to be the only ones that are the size of a battleships."

"But Pentecost sent you, right? You're getting information for _him _as much as for _you_."

"Maybe," Newton said, finally starting to cave, weakened by stress.

"He doesn't catch a cold without a reason."

"_I'm_ the one with the theory."

"What theory?" Chau said, turning to him.

"The theory that they're so huge," Newton struggled, keeping his eyes fixed on the sea, "because...because maybe the German's bred them that way."

"Oh? How'dya think they do that?"

"I don't know. Radiation...hormone or chemical injection. That's what I'm trying to find out." Chau gave a little humf and crossed his arms. Newton shouldn't have said anything but at this point he didn't care. He was frustrated as hell. He might never see another giant octopus again and now Hermann would either think he didn't care or he was missing in action. But just as he was turning away something caught his peripheral vision. No, probably just a reflection on his glasses.

"Look!" Chau cried and pointed just as Newton saw it again. It was an unmistakable colossal arm of an octopus. Chau demanded all hands on deck and Newton ran to his plane. He fired up the engine and gave a whoop of joy as it roared in his ears. He peeled off the carrier like a page torn out of a notebook and headed straight for the octopus.

"Oh.

Shit."

It was like the Kraken. Tentacles writhing above the surface like angry arms churning the water. Newton swooped down as low as he could get, snapping away with his camera and trying to operate the plane at the same time. The tentacles flailed upward, often getting alarmingly close to the plane. He looped around and climbed to avoid being hit.

"I know that behavior," Geiszler said to himself, "That's aggression. It's protecting its eggs." Again, he dove to get a closer look, words of Jules Verne and Victor Hugo flashed through his mind. He aimed his camera like a gun to capture the detail of the suckers when he was hit from behind.

Whap! like a heavy wet rag only with the force of a giant iron fist. Newton swore. Another arm slapped around the nose of the plane, dragging him down.

"Son of a–." The plane made many warning noises. It was under great strain and Newton fought hard to pull the plane up. He steered the plane hard starboard and then jerked it in the opposite direction to shake the creature's grasp. He could hear the suckers pop as the tentacles came unstuck. The propeller whirred a little and Newton swore again. The engine groaned dangerously one last time before Newton wrenched the plane free. But his relief lasted only two seconds. The drone of another engine hovered overhead and Newton looked up to see a Messerschmitt Bf 109 rapidly descending on him.

"Oh, come on, man!" Geiszler banked again, keeping at the same level. The Hun was right on his tail but didn't fire.

"Where the hell is Chau?" Newton tapped the compass on the dashboard, "I'm going back the direction I came. And get off my tail, you jerk!" he yelled up at the enemy even though he knew he couldn't hear him. But the Messerschmitt wasn't going anywhere. Newton tried to shake him off but nothing worked. Finally he caught sight of Chau's carrier. It looked like it was turning around, as if it had steered away from the octopus and returned. Newton's expression changed from puzzlement to seething hatred. There was no way the German was going to allow him to go anywhere and he was going to have a few words with Chau even if he _was_ threatening as hell. It was not the smoothest landing of his great experience but he was practically shaking with rage. He ripped off his flying helmet.

"Guess who's back, you one-eyed bastard!" Geiszler said, stalking toward Chau. But the man had no time to react as the Messerschmitt landed close to them on the flight deck, making it hard for them to stand. The Hun pilot got out and walked up to Chau, cool as a cucumber.

"You have the goods?" he said in icy German.

"Yes, this way," Chau said, turning his back on them and heading below to the second deck.

"Wait? What?" Newton said, scrambling after Chau, the German pilot behind him, "What are you doing? What are you showing him?"

"Gotta sell the octopus to the highest bidder."

"But...the enemy?" Newton spluttered.

"A man of profit has no enemies because he can't afford to."

"You should be ashamed of yourself." They approached large metal tables covered in massive chunks of dead octopus flesh.

"Wunderbar," he said as he handed Chau a roll of Reichsmark banknotes. Suddenly, there was shouting from above. Chau ran up, followed by the German and Newton. Ten of Chau's minions were operating cranes fit with massive cables like they were fishing. And they were.

"We've got her!" Chau grinned and showed his gold teeth. Newton realized to his horror, almost at the moment he saw it, that they had hunted the giant octopus like a whale. It struggled as they dragged her up on the flight deck, it all groaning under the weight of two aircraft and the giant creature. Then they aimed an anti-aircraft gun at her and she began to die. Newton turned away, barely able to watch.

"You're killing her and she's not even attacking us!" Chau shrugged and walked over to the Messerschmitt with its pilot.

"Hold it!" Newton said spinning in his tracks and running up to Chau, "The octopi have never attacked _you_! But it went for _me_! They've been trained not to attack you because you're in cahoots with _them_!" he yelled, pointing to the German. The enemy's face turned even whiter and more cruel. He stepped forward, looking Newton in the eyes.

"How did you know?" he said in perfectly trained English.

"Well, they've only attacked Allied ships, so I figured..."

"I don't believe you," the German said, gripping Geiszler by the throat.

"I don't know anything! It's just a theory!" The German hit him across the face. Geiszler wiped the blood from his lips.

"Nothing," he said through gritted teeth.

"You are here to collect information."

"No," he lied. The man punched him hard, knocking Newton to the deck. Now he wiped his streaming nose and looked up, disgusted. There was a commotion from the men surrounding the corpse. An egg that had not been released with the others had flopped onto the deck.

"Get that in a vessel!" Chau commanded.

"You owe me that egg!" Newton shouted, pointing to the egg and looking up at Chau.

"He owes you nothing," the German said calmly and ruthlessly. He reached down to Geiszler and dragged him up by the collar, punching him again and letting him drop. Newton struggled to get up.

"Tell me what you know."

"I don't _know _anything. I think." His assailant swore in German and was about to strike him again when there was a great roar overhead. Everyone looked skyward to see, to Newton's relief, a Spitfire soar over their heads. The German, unable to resist the opportunity to bag an Allied plane, made for his aircraft.

"I'll come back for you," he hissed at Geiszler. The lieutenant got up with great effort.

"Get that egg in my plane!" Chau shrugged again.

"No skin off of my ass. The German will come after you for it anyhow." Newton watched the Messerschmitt take off and head for the Spitfire, who was clearly taking the enemy for a run. "Good," he thought, "Give him hell." Chau ordered his men to load the octopus egg into the gun carriage of the Boulton Paul Defiant. It was a miracle that they didn't smash its new glass container.

"You deal with the enemy too much, you'll either end up as one of them or they'll kill you! You can't stay neutral forever!" he yelled down to Chau as he got in the cockpit. He fired up the engine. Just then, the two planes rushed overhead, the Spitfire on the enemy's tail. Suddenly the Spitfire maneuvered to the portside of the Messerschmitt and gunned him solid. The Spitfire peeled away just in time as the enemy's plane caught fire and nose-dived into the drink. Newton cheered and took off. He switched on his radio.

"Lieutenant Geiszler, we're going back home."

"Yes sir, Commander Pentecost, sir!"

"And Geiszler?

"Yessir?

"We're going to pick up Gottlieb from the hospital before we go back to the base; he's being discharged today."

"Thank you, sir!" Geiszler grinned from ear to ear, "Congratulations on nailing the German, sir!"

"Did you get what you wanted?"

"You bet I did! But I've got a lot of analyzing to do." It wasn't that long of a flight back but the last leg was really starting to get rough for Geiszler. He'd been awake for 22 hours. He hardly remember landing near to the hospital after Pentecost said he'd meet him at the RAF base. All he knew was that he was standing at the end of the hall where he and Hermann had walked a month before. As he made his way down to Hermann's hospital bed, the Squadron Leader came into view. He was in uniform once again, cane in hand, body in profile to him. Gottlieb looked up to Geiszler standing in the doorway of the sunlit hospital.

"Newton!" In a few short strides they were wrapped in eachother's arms. The embrace was almost violent. It said, "you could have died," and "I'm here now," and "don't ever leave again." They both thought they said these things out loud but they didn't. They stood very close, looking at eachother. Hermann's face fell a bit when he saw Newton had been injured.

"Who did this?"

"No big deal."

"Who?"

"Sorry I didn't write back the last time."

"Who?

"I'll tell you later. How's your leg?"

"It's alright. You came here to see me before you went to the base?''

"Yeah, Pentecost tole me you were being released today."

"Is he here?"

"No, he said he'd meet up at the base."

"I'm so glad you're alright."

"Me too," Geiszler said grinning, eye lids starting to droop. He gripped Hermann's shoulders, almost falling forward.

"You poor chap. You're dead on your feet."

"I'm ok, seriously. I've just got to take the plane back to the base; it's got my specimens in it."

"You're in no fit state to walk, let alone operate an aeroplane."

"But–"

"We'll get someone to take it back for you."

"I'm too damn tired to argue with you today."

"Good." They both laughed weakly and headed down the hall together, arm in arm. It was difficult to tell who was supporting who. Certainly a joint effort. Hermann's ride was waiting for him and the driver and another flight officer waved and hollered at the sight of them.

"They're cheering for you more than me," Hermann whispered in Newton's ear.

"I doubt that." Geiszler said, squeezing his arm.

"Jolly good to have you both back," the driver said as they approached, "Our takings have gone right down since you've been gone."

"How many of our men have..." Gottlieb said as he got in with the support of Geiszler's hand.

"Three. Not that bad, but still...Oh, George, the flight sergeant in your room has died, Squadron Leader. I'm sorry."

"Ah, good man he was," Gottlieb said, shaking his head, watching Geiszler climb in and sit next to him, "terrible shame."

"That means there's an empty space in your room, sir. And that reminds me, Geiszler, you've been kicked out. But perhaps you could move into Gottlieb's room in the mean time, if that's alright with you, sir." Hermann and Newton exchanged glances. Their mouths parted.

"Fine," Gottlieb said, not moving. The driver started to pull away but Gottlieb suddenly stopped him and he braked.

"Sorry, but could one of you take Geiszler's plane back to the base? He's in no fit state to fly."

"I'll go," said the flight officer in the passenger seat, eagerly, jumping out.

"Thanks, man," Geiszler said with a nod, "But be careful with it." Gottlieb looked at him. He was sporting a 10-day beard, his hair was scruffy and his green eyes, usually so bright, were dull, and his eyelids were pink. Newton started to drift off as they drove and Hermann had to give him a gentle nudge as they pulled up. Pentecost was waiting for them both. He shook their hands, congratulating the lieutenant on his mission, saying that he would be in touch in a day or two.

"I'm off, gentleman. Look after him, Gottlieb," Stacker said, patting Hermann on the shoulder.

"I will, sir," he said saluting. They made their way to Hermann's room and he ushered Newton onto the bed opposite his. Hermann sat on his own mattress and watched Newton take off his flight jacket and battle dress jacket. Two envelopes fell to the floor. Newton sighed wearily to pick them up and his eyes met Hermann's. He nearly asked if they were the letters he sent him but he didn't have to bother. Newton gave him the ghost of a smile and that was enough.

"I need a shave," Geiszler said, rubbing his now hairy face.

"Let me," Gottlieb said, rather low in tone and full of tenderness. Geiszler smiled properly this time, though still fatigued. Hermann pushed himself up and went into the top dresser drawer for his shaving kit. After he worked up a lather on the brush over the basin, he sat on the bed next to Newton and began to whiten the man's face with it. Geiszler tried not to giggle but he felt silly. Slowly, carefully, Hermann worked the razor over Newton's face, giving him a very close shave.

"I'm glad you're not using a cutthroat razor; I hate those damn things.

"They're not that frightening if you know how to use them."

"Still, ugh." Hermann didn't answer. He was too absorbed in his task. He could feel the sharp curves of Newton's jawline under the blades. Geiszler tilted his head back as Hermann scraped the safety razor up his throat and around his chin. Gottlieb steadied himself by resting a hand on the back of Newton's neck as he moved on to the more delicate task of the man's mouth. Newton pressed his lips together and flexed his skin as he would if he were doing the shaving himself. Hermann used the clean end of the towel which he had dampened to wipe Newton's face clean. It was wonderfully smooth. They were so very close. And then, Hermann brought his palm up to Geiszler's left cheek to feel his handiwork. They both moved forward almost imperceptibly, hooded eyes flickering down to eachother's mouths, breathing steady, shallow and noiseless. Their lips, excruciatingly soft, enfolded. Neither dared to move at first, as if it were a dream that could be destroyed by movement. But they both opened their mouth simultaneously to draw in more of the other's lips. Soon, their mouths gaped, drawing breath from eachother until they could breathe no more. They parted, mouths still open with desire, disbelieving eyes locked. The air raid whistle blasted.

"God no, not now," Newton said, shutting his eyes tight and resting his forehead on Hermann's. He could feel Hermann's thin hand sliding down his jaw.

"Come on," Hermann said, turning around to take hold of his cane and getting up. Newton reached out to him and the latter helped to hoist him up. They held hands as they made for the door, but separated quickly in case they were seen. The base was in orderly chaos. Men ran to the bunkers as German fire began to pepper the ground. Gottlieb and Geiszler headed to the newly dug raid shelters lined with sand bags. Unlike the mounded, larger shelters, these were shallow, only six-and-a-half feet high. They grabbed helmets that were near the entrance and hunkered down. They were alone. The noise of the fire whistled overhead and minor explosions echoed across the airfield.

"I hope that's not _my_ plane I hear blowing up, otherwise it's a month's work down the drain." Another blow pelted the ground close by, showering them with debris and dirt. Newton swore. His anger gave way to utter frustration and tears welled up in his eyes. Hermann got one look at this and took Newton in his arms, kissing him again. Newton gripped hard in return, running his hands up Hermann's back as the latter drew him closer by his hips. They kissed hungrily this time, jaws opening wide, teeth grazing, tongues slipping past one another, finally ending in a heartfelt, tender suck, lips still hanging upon eachother's. Hermann felt one of Newton's tears run down his cheek and for a nanosecond thought it was his own. It may as well have been. He wiped a tear off the man's cheekbone, his mouth still nearly touching Newton's moist lips and uttered softly into his mouth, "I'm not going to lose you now."


	6. Upon My Brow

After they had been cruelly parted and then united, to their great relief, Newton and Hermann were nearly able to (in an unconventional way) live together. Though, at the RAF base, or anywhere in the world for that matter, they had to hide their relationship, they were able to get to know eachother very well indeed. Spending most of his time in his office, Hermann sorted through the paperwork that had built up in his absence and Newton joined him, writing a detailed report on his "octopus reconnaissance" for Commander Pentecost. Hermann often held Newton's hand while the latter wrote and the former read through documents. They quickly parted at the sound of a knock on the door but nothing could totally destroy their contentment. When they were alone in their room, which had been a heaven-sent state of affairs, they kissed and caressed as much as possible. It seemed to take the place of their arguments. Sometimes tender and gentle, sometimes wild and aggressive, but always passionate and searching. Their hands felt eachother's bodies, mentally mapping all they wanted to feel of eachother's physical parameters, their bodies, as if they just wanted to make sure the other was real. Sometimes they even writhed together as they sat on one of the beds, uniform buttons clashing, they inhaled the very sighs from eachother's mouths. They dared not go any further, though they pushed themselves to the brink many times. Often just in time to stop themselves from touching eachother to the point where they could not turn back. But they also spent much of their time simply talking and even laughing together. After one very long day in the office, Hermann suddenly felt melancholy when they got back to their room.

"What's wrong, hon?" Hermann breathed in with bittersweet arousal at the sound of Newton suddenly using an American pet name for him.

"Nothing," he lied, "Just thinking how worried you were when I was injured. It was such a minor wound I received as your temporary arse end charlie."

"Huh?" Newt said with half a puzzled smile on his lips.

"Rear gunner." Newton laughed openly. "I'm trying to be serious."

"You _always_ are. And you shouldn't be. I mean, I know we're in the middle of a war but that's all the more we should just, you know, enjoy life and make jokes." Hermann sighed again and sat on his bed. Newton sat on his. "I'm sorry, I just try not to think about you being worried about me."

"Well, I was. Dreadfully."

"I know. I saw your face. I don't wanna to see that look again."

"There I was, not knowing what the hell happened," he said almost to himself, "thinking you'd bought the farm, imagining you a flamer in the drink. Or that you'd ended up in a blood wagon at the very least. I was so frozen on a stick I nearly bagged over the side of my bed. I never thought I'd see you again. Now you're home, uh here, and I'm happy about that, of course, but... You're a clot even if you are brilliant...and I thought..." Hermann had used up all his words and he just stared at the floor even harder until it seemed to float towards him.

"I understood the words but the meaning is _totally_ gone, man."

"In plain English, I was worried," Hermann said looking Newton in the eye.

"I got that from the way you sighed."

"Really?" Newton walked over softly and sat next to Hermann. He kissed him on the lips with great assurity, letting him _feel_ he was there and not simply telling him.

"Really," Newton said taking Hermann's face in his hands. Newton started to chuckle. "Frozen on a stick..." he added, grinning and shaking his head.

"I suppose these little turns of phrase we have _are_ rather absurd," Hermann said with a twinkle in his eye once more.

"_This_ isn't." Newton leaned in and showed him _exactly_ what _wasn't_ absurd.

One morning, Newton slept in a bit later than usual after he'd had a long and private conversation with Pentecost the night before. Hermann left when he was dead to the world, and returned an hour later with coffee on a tray. He set it down and stood looking at Newton as he slept. He looked very peaceful indeed. Newton smiled beautifully as he woke up to see Hermann standing over him.

"I brought you some coffee." Newton looked up at Hermann who was standing there, his left hand in his pocket and his right hand on his cane, looking almost jaunty.

"You look sexy." Hermann raised his eyebrows but inhaled with confidence.

"You're probably delusional from sleep." Hermann handed Newton the cup who blew on the steaming liquid and took a tentative sip.

"Sorry to knock you up, but–" Newton spluttered his hot drink all over the place before Hermann could finish.

"What did you say?"

"I said I'm sorry to wake you up." Newton was wheezing with laughter as he told him the American meaning of the phrase.

"Oh dear." Hermann blushed a bit as he sat down on Newton's bed.

"Bletch, I can see why you drink tea, this coffee is totally vile."

"Sorry."

"That's ok, I'm probably just picky."

"No, it's ruddy awful." They sat in comfortable silence for a minute and when Newt finished his coffee, Hermann took the empty cup without being asked and put it on the dresser.

"The door's closed, right?"

"Yes."

"Come here." Hermann complied and fell back slowly into Newton's warm arms. Hermann let himself go. The sensation of being wrapped in Newton's arms was more than he ever could have asked for. Eventually they got up to work in the office, but the sensation stayed with Hermann for many hours afterward. Later that same day, Hermann had stopped working early to give his leg a rest and returned to their room alone. Newton had been in the mess having a whale of a time talking to a group of fellow pilots about his exploits. He wasn't far behind Hermann and walked into their room as Hermann was undoing his tie, his coat hanging open. Newton was practically gasping for air he was laughing so hard. He sat on the bed next to Hermann and patted his thigh several times before resting his hand there. Hermann was smiling and asked him what was so funny.

"I just found out..." Newton could hardly compose himself, "that 'squabbling bleeder' is a slang for 'squadron leader.'" Hermann dropped his shoulders, and suddenly became grumpy, pulling away from Newt.

"No, no," Newt said, sobering up but still smiling, "honestly, it wasn't against you. They were talking about the guy who replaced you when you were in the hospital."

"Oh, yes," Hermann said as Newton hugged his shoulders as the man sat stiffly, "I heard he wasn't well liked."

"You thought they were talking about you?"

"Yes." Newton dropped his head on Hermann's shoulder.

"They don't call you silly names, they just think you're a little stiff, that's all. Lighten up, man." Hermann brushed it off and warmed to Newton's touch but was a little subdued the rest of the night. The next day he rose early and Newton woke up to see Hermann's bed made. Later on in the office Hermann started a conversation out of the blue.

"Your German surname doesn't seem to bother them," Hermann said about the men under his command, "You're one of the boys. But my surname puts them off. Largely because they mistrust me a bit because I'm not full of enthusiasm like you are. I'm too serious."

"You should let them see your cheerful side. And you do actually have a sense of humor it's just really, really..."

"Dull," Hermann said with his back toward Newton, pretending to look at a map on his wall.

"Dry."

"You mean dull."

"No," Newton said truthfully, shaking his head.

"You know, I used not to care, but seeing you...have what I don't have... it, it bothers me somehow."

"I'm sorry," Newton said, getting up and walking over to Hermann, putting his hands on his shoulders, resting his forehead on his back, "I just thought you felt left out in general; I didn't think I was the one who made you feel worse about it."

"It's alright old chap." Newton chuckled into his back but Hermann put a hand on one that was gripping his shoulder. There was a knock at the door and they dove to their respective seats as Hermann called out "what is it?" A flight lieutenant burst in.

"Wing Commander Pentecost just pulled up, sir."

"Ah, thank you Perkins." The officer left and they exchanged glances. They hadn't seen him in a month. Soon they heard the Commander's familiar determined stride and they both stood up as he entered the room.

"Please sit down, sir."

"I'll come straight to the point. You two need a break."

"Yes, I suppose we do," Hermann said, "New–Geiszler more than I do, of course."

"Well, it will be a bit of a working leave, actually. Lieutenant Geiszler needs to start analyzing his samples. And, Gottlieb, we may need your mathematics skills in the prediction of further attacks on allied battleships." Hermann raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, of course," he said, nodding assuredly.

"Gottlieb, do you remember the old farmhouse you had your eye on?" Hermann nodded again, this time narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"I bought it. I want you and Geiszler to use it for your research." Hermann tried not to show his excitement, remaining totally still and looking at Newton for a reaction. The man smiled at him softly and knowing. Hermann kept his composure but he was sure they could both see his chest rising and falling more rapidly than usual. Newton didn't say much. Pentecost had little more to say and ordered them to travel to the cottage tomorrow morning, wishing them a safe journey. After the Wing Commander left, they suddenly felt awkward, hardly speaking but frequently looking up at one another. They retired early to pack up their papers and kit bags. There was tension in the air.

"All this...petting...we've been doing," Hermann began gingerly with a casual wave on the word 'petting' and a shuffle of his feet.

"Yeah?" Newton, turned round as he stuffed his kit bag. Hermann leant his cane next to the dresser.

"It's illegal, you know."

"The groping is," Newton said, raising his eyebrows.

"Do be serious."

"Yeah." Newton fought against Hermann's morbid tones with as much casualty as he could possibly fake.

"We could go to prison if we get caught."

"As long as we get the same cell."

"Newton!" Hermann growled. Geiszler was taken aback by his raw anger and stared at him, breathing deeply.

"Sorry," Newton said, greatly sobered by his lover's anguish. He walked up to Hermann and put his arms around his waist. Hermann kept his head down and rested his forehead on Newton's shoulder. Newton began to kiss him.

"Don't," Hermann said into Newton's mouth, but he felt fingers in his hair and gave in a little.

"It's alright," Newton whispered. Hermann inhaled his words like smoke. They expressed their worries in touches, grasps, caresses, each trying to pull eachother apart and put eachother back together again.

"We're going to put ourselves in danger," Hermann whispered, on the edge of confident desire and hopeless fear.

"Don't you like a little danger," Newton said with a grind of his hips. Hermann felt himself slipping into his abyss of yearning. A moan escaped his lips and Newton seemed to catch it in his, grinding into him for a second time. Hermann tried to push him away but only gripped him more tightly. Newton took Hermann's upper lip in his and bit down very hard to quiet his groans and whimpers that were getting dangerously loud. When he released him gently, Hermann pulled away but left his hands in the crooks of Newton's arms.

"Society is more dangerous than war." Newton knew he was right and they should stop. They rested their foreheads together and he stole a look at Hermann. His brow was furrowed, eyes shut tightly.

"I'm sorry," Newton sighed, apologizing to himself just as much.

"At least we'll get to sleep in the same bed tomorrow."

"God, that sounds fantastic." They returned to their packing in a haze of sadness and suppressed passion. They spoke no more until they were in their beds and the lights were out. Hermann told Newton about the cottage and they fell asleep with their heads full of pleasure, sunlight, and freedom. They were elated when they woke up early the next morning. It was just after dawn. All the hopelessness seemed to have left them. They waved goodbye to some of the men on the airfield, trying not to think that they may never see some of them again. They couldn't ask for better weather for the time of year. Though it was a bit cold, being March, it was a lovely drive and the sun was on their faces most of the morning. Newt drove and halfway they stopped to eat some meager sandwiches they'd brought with them. Hermann fell asleep and Newton put his sheepskin bomber jacket over him. When Hermann woke up in it, happiness washed over him like the spring rain that was to come. A quarter of an hour later, Newton pulled up and switched off the car. He propped himself on his arms, looking at the crude yet picturesque cottage.

"It's tremendous, man." He jumped out. Hermann beamed. Newton got the kit bags out of the backseat and handed him one in exchange for his jacket. Once in the house, they shut the door and stood inside, looking around. Newton put his arm around Hermann.

"How do you feel?"

"Safer." Newton tilted his head up to Hermann who kissed him firmly on the lips, deepening it quickly. "Let's go upstairs." Newton closed his eyes, clinging to Hermann for the support he pretended not to need. They climbed the stairs together, both practically trembling with desire and nerves. When they reached the bedroom, Hermann shut the door out of habit. They were in eachother's arms before they knew it. Their lack of inhibition startled them and they became clumsy when they'd never been before. Hermann's cane clattered to the floor but neither cared. Cognizance seemed to fade away and they had their jackets off and at their feet in under a minute. Their mouths were engaged all the while until Newton rammed him up against the paper-covered wall. Hermann gasped. By the early afternoon light, Newton could see his man was trying to catch his breath and he held on, waiting for the soonest moment he could capture his lips. He contented himself with running his fingernails through Hermann's hair.

"You've done this before?" Hermann said cautiously.

"Uh, yeah," he said as if to imply 'what a stupid question,' "but not for about two years so I'm gettin' a _little_ frustrated...when was the last time you...ya know?"

"About four years ago."

"Seriously, man? OK, that's it. I'm getting you off right now." He went straight for the man's trousers.

"No, on second thought," he protested weakly as Newton unfastened his pants, "I don't think that's such a spiffing ide – gah!" Newton had already taken hold. Hermann whined.

"How about now? Cuz I'll stop," he said genuinely, looking up at him, "I mean, i-if I'm going too fast."

"No, please," Hermann panted, feeling for the wall behind him, "I changed my mind again," he added, letting his head drop back, "I'll die if you stop now." Newton stared at him with utter devotion and continued. "Could he _be_ any harder?" he thought to himself. He gripped him more firmly but he was so worried he'd hurt him. Hermann groaned softly as if his entire body ached. Newton closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He wanted to ask Hermann to touch him but didn't have the heart to break his reverie and started to suck his neck instead. Hermann was fighting his desire. Newton could feel him tensing, but he continued to stroke him, firmly, slowly. Out of his peripheral vision he could see Hermann biting his lip, hard.

"Moan," Newton commanded softly into his neck, "go on, you need to; no one can hear us." Hermann complied. Newton started to pant. He involuntarily squeezed harder, stroking a little faster, leaning into Hermann who dug his fingers into Newton's waist. Hermann pressed his neck into the heat of Newton's open mouth. Newton moaned in return. Hermann's skin was all soft and moist underneath his lips. He felt Hermann's right hand fumbling toward his waistband and reach into his own trousers. His breath shuddered as Hermann grasped him tightly. He ground into Hermann's hand, urging him to work faster. After a few deliberate, languorous strokes, Hermann reached the pace Newton had on his own cock.

"Newton, Newton, _Newton_," he repeated, his mind slipping, his hips thrusting forward, "I...I think..._oh Newton_...I'm nearly there..." With one great lash forward like a bullwhip he came, crying out at the top of his voice as he felt his warm ejaculate issue from his throbbing member. He desperately worked Newton in a kind of frenzy all the way through his own release and Newton followed, his grunts flowering into a thick, untamed moan. Neither could stop panting. They slowly regained awareness of their surroundings. Newton captured Hermann's open lips and was reciprocated in full. When they parted Hermann looked into Newton's eyes with disbelief, awe, relief, humor, fear, tenderness. Newton gazed back, the same emotions glistening in his eyes. He smiled. Hermann kissed his neck.

"Oh damn. Our uniforms," he said. Newton whipped Hermann's hankie out of the trouser pocket and removed most of the milky spatters. "At least the jackets aren't soiled."

"Best sexual experience of the decade and you're worried about staining some fabric."

"Best?" Hermann looked down at Newton lovingly, hopefully, raising his eyebrows.

"So far, yeah." Newton smiled to the fullest. Hermann inhaled.

"I think we need a nap," he said, taking Newton's hand and leading him over to the bed. With one hand he pulled off the sheet that hung over the bed, that was put there to prevent dust building up, and hung it over a chair. Soon they were stretched out, in eachother's arms, their trousers still half undone. Newton rested his head on Hermann's chest, his hand tucked inside his shirt, feeling the soft skin beneath his fingers. Hermann sighed with great contentment. A few minutes of dozing passed without a sound. But Newton stirred and said "Hermann?"

"Umm?"

"Why did you protest when I started to touch you?" Hermann breathed in and for a moment Newton thought he had gone back to sleep but then he spoke.

"I suppose I knew that if we started this sort of thing we'd never be able to stop...and we'd never be safe again." Newton paused.

"We were never safe."

After they had slept for an hour, they got up and made themselves presentable and headed down the road to collect a couple fresh eggs from an old woman Hermann had met when he first looked at the house in '43. They made the most of them and some tins of beef and some vegetables from the woman's garden. It wasn't much of a meal, but they had gotten used to a lack of food like everyone else. When they had finished, Hermann told Newton to dig through the little collection of records that was left in the sitting room. Hermann washed up their plates and the few dust-covered dishes that sat on the kitchen counter. Newton blew off the dust from a record he wanted to hear, but then stopped at the sound of the kitchen clatter. He walked up behind Hermann and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing his chest into his warm back. Hermann's hands were wet and soapy. He leaned back into Newton until he felt his head rest on the man's forehead.

"Oh Newton," he sighed, contented.

"Come on, let's dance. I found one you'll like," Newton said as he lead him into the sitting room. Hermann wiped his hands on the dishrag and grabbed his cane on the way through the door, but Newton took it from him gently when they reached the record player. Hermann held onto him, relaxing for once, as Newton set the needle on the record. Al Bowlly's voice floated around him. Newton lead him out into the room and they began to slow dance.

_The touch of your lips, upon my brow, your lips that are cool and sweet..._

"Newton –," he started but he was shushed. The song played on. Newton rested his head on Hermann's shoulder as their arms wound around one another, Hermann's hands on the small of Newton's back. They danced and swayed ever so slowly until they were at a stand-still when the song ended, the record scratching before the needle popped upward.

"I was going to say thank you," Hermann said.

"For what?"

"Making me happy."

"Likewise." Hermann kissed him softly. "I want to show you something."

"Oh?" Hermann said with a saucy look on his face.

"Not that," Newton smiled, "Follow me." Hermann picked up his cane and followed him outside until they were far across the back garden. They reached the line of trees and Newton parted some branches so they could walk through.

"Newton, where are we going?"

"You'll see." Hermann did. There was now a large outbuilding where there hadn't been one before when he looked the property over a year and a half ago. The building was quite new, some earth had not settled where they were walking. He was in awe.

"This?" Newton nodded. "Come on, I want to see all my samples." Hermann rolled his eyes affectionately and followed. Newton pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the large metal door. To Hermann's horror, just beyond an array of specimen jar-covered laboratory tables was a gigantic fish tank the entire length of the building. And inside it was a large, live, octopus.


	7. Bonding Rituals

"Hermann. Hermann wait!" It was astonishing how fast the man could move with a limp and a cane. Newton ran after him, suddenly realizing the sun was going down. Hermann let the back door fly open and stormed into the sitting room. Newton watched him and he was distraught with anger, nearly spinning because his pace was so short. It pained Newton to see it.

"Please say something." Hermann rounded on him, his chest pumping with frustration more than a need for air. Newton stood back.

"Are you out of your mind?!"

"I don't think so?" Newton said quietly, bewildered like a child. Hermann softened, beside himself.

"You're mad," he said with genuine concern, "You'll kill yourself."

"It's just one little octopus."

"No doubt the offspring of the gigantic female that nearly killed you."

"Um, yeah," Newton admitted, not wanting to make eye contact with him.

"How could you keep this from me?"

"I didn't want to worry you."

"Tell me how this is any better, Newton."

"It's in a tank Hermann, It's not going to hurt anyone."

"You're not answering my question."

"OK, if I would have told you when they were setting all this up and bringing it down here you would have tried to stop it."

"You're bloody right I would have!"

"Well, you wouldn't have had a choice anyway. And you don't now. Pentecost ordered me to keep it."

"But you brought it back with you, alive! You should have just killed it and dissected it."

"And pass up an opportunity to study a live specimen of biological warfare? Are you kidding?"

"What if it grows so large it breaks the tank?!"

"It's not going to get any bigger. It's stunted."

"How do you know?"

"Because at this stage it should be twice as large and it's not." Hermann sat heavily on the couch, his head in his hand and the other hand gripping his cane. Newton sat next to him, hesitating for a moment before embracing him. Hermann hugged him close.

"You bloody fool," he sighed into his shoulder. He put a hand on Newton's cheek.

"Promise me you'll be careful. I know that's a lot to ask from you, but please try," Newton put a hand on the back of his thin neck to bring their foreheads together.

"I'll try."

"I suppose that will have to do."

"Not mad at me?"

"Only a little."

"I'll put another record on," Newton said as he got up. When he returned to the couch he told Hermann to lie back and rest his head on his lap. Hermann was lulled by the soft music and Newton's hands in his hair and on his forehead. A few songs wafted by and Hermann's eyelids began to droop.

"Newton, I'm getting tired. It's been a long day; perhaps we should go to bed, my dear."

"Did you just call me...? Hermann looked up into Newton's green eyes, open wide.

"Do you mind?" Hermann said, feeling terribly vulnerable.

"No, it's nice," Newton said, breathy, a bit embarrassed and warm all over. He brought Hermann's head up with his legs and leaned down to kiss him tenderly. Thy could have fallen asleep on the couch but forced themselves to stand up, turn off the record player and climb the stairs. After they'd gotten into their pajamas and into bed Newton sighed. It was somewhere between sadness and contentment. Hermann made a noise like a question.

"I wish we could be in bed together every night."

"So do I." They moved closer together and Newton draped an arm over Hermann's chest and they fell asleep.

The next morning they set to work in the outbuilding. Newton performed every chemical test he knew on the octopus samples while Hermann used a large old schoolroom chalkboard to work on his calculations, trying to avoid looking at the octopus floating around the tank. The following day, a shipment of fish and crustaceans arrived for the octopus, via British Army truck. Newton spent the day dumping most of the fish in the tank and setting some aside in a smaller tank for later. Hermann watched him putting some of the fish and crustaceans into two gallon glass jars and other contraptions.

"What are you doing?" Newton hoped he would add 'dear' on the end of that sentence, but went on to explain that he had to make hunting for food a challenge for the octopus.

"See, octopi are really really intelligent creatures. They need to have stuff to keep them occupied otherwise they get bored. Sometimes in captivity they get so bored they can hurt themselves or break things." Hermann pursed his lips and watched Newton continue to drop various prey-filled containers into different parts of the tank while the octopus retreated to its dark corners.

After a long day's work they relished in eachother's touches, the comfort of their shared warmth, away from the world. In the morning a telegram arrived.

_Need reports from you both. Numbers diminishing. Come here as soon as possible._

_Wing Commander S. Pentecost _

They looked at one another. Sadness crept over their hearts. They didn't speak about it but merely set about gathering up their things before heading to bed early. Hermann copied down all his notes from the chalkboard and erasing everything in case his findings were discovered. Newton made sure the tank was well stocked and locked away his specimens. They were too busy to talk really. When they were getting ready for bed, Hermann cleared his throat.

"Yeah, I know we need to talk."

"It's difficult to know where to begin," Hermann said truthfully, slipping his braces off his shoulders.

"I wanna stay here with you." Hermann turned to face him. Newton was also in his shirtsleeves, his face open and wounded. Their eyes raked over eachother's bodies. "Well?"

"I feel the same of course." Newton looked rather disappointed. He was hoping for more passion in his response.

"That's it?"

"What do you want me to say?" Hermann dug his heals in, fighting himself again.

"Nothing, I just. I know how you feel, I – I guess I just want to hear it." Hermann inhaled and clenched his teeth. He swallowed.

"I don't want to go back. You know I don't. I do miss flying but it means going back to live in constant worry of discovery, not being able to...to be together. It means giving up this...us... you." He heard Newton draw in a breath. "You, with your dark hair, and your enthusiasm and your tattoos. And regardless of the fact that you look bloody dashing in your battle-dress blues and your unnatural obsession with octopi and the fact that you drive me up the blessed wall sometimes with your stubbornness and your reckless behavior, I–," he paused, looking at Newton standing before him, who was hanging on his words, "I love you."

Newton felt the back of his neck catch proverbial fire and tears come to his eyes. He was in awe of the man before him. A man who was held together by duty and his own stoicism. A pilot, a brave man, a friend, and now, a lover. Hermann breathed impatiently.

"Don't play silly buggers with me, do you love me or don't you?" he demanded.

"Yes," Newton said. Hermann shut his eyes with relief and opened them again. "Yes, I love you. You smell like Brylcreem, and Meltonian shoe polish and I fucking love it. I love your pale face and your cheekbones. I love the fact that you draw equations on your shirtsleeves and don't think anyone will notice. I love how you smooth your hair down before you get into the cockpit like you're going on a date. I love being with you, bickering with you, working with you, lying next to you..." But he didn't get to finish. Hermann was enflamed with desire. He set his jaw and dove for Newton, capturing his mouth with the determination to take his breath away. Newton gasped into Hermann's mouth, the declarations of love still echoing in his mind, lust over-taking them. They broke apart wildly, because Hermann forced them to.

"What?! What?! What did I do?!"

"I'm angry as hell!"

"You're mad at me because I want to have sex with you; that makes total sense," Newton deadpanned.

"I'm not angry with you, for," he paused and gulped, "what you want to do with me. I'm angry at the world for making it wrong."

"OK Hermann, it's not wrong. The world," he made quote gestures, "doesn't know everything and isn't always right." Now he paused with a melancholy winsome smile, "The world will come around eventually."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Try." Hermann weakened to the tenderness in Newton's voice, allowing himself to be slowly stripped of his clothes. Newton slid his hands over Hermann's pale, thin, flat chest, placing a kiss over his heart.

"Well, it's not just the uniform apparently." Hermann huffed out a laugh as he began to divest Newton of his shirt and trousers and underwear. They were both totally naked. Hermann traced his fingers over the curling lines of the octopus tattoos that covered Newton's torso.

"Oh my God they're everywhere," he said more in delighted awe than disgust. Newton smiled, leaning into him, wrapping his arms around him, one arms up between his shoulder blades, the other down over his backside. Hermann closed his eyes and stroked Newton's chest. Their growing hard-ons pressed together.

"Hermann, I don't know how to ask this..."

"I think I can guess..." Hermann said, looking down at Newton, great compassion in his face.

"I want you inside me." Hermann had never seen Newton this bashful. "Do you think you could?"

"How are we going to...um..." he choked out, "Vaseline or...?"

"Even better. You know that Chinese guy I mentioned? The one who inked me up? Here..." Newton walked to the dresser and retrieved a cardboard package of condoms and a pot from the drawer. Hermann tried not to look at the man's member that was jouncing freely as he tossed the packet on the bed as he returned to him. Newton showed him the little black jar with red elegant Chinese characters around it.

"Is it safe?"

"The Chinese have been using it for 300 years."

"Dare I ask what's in it?"

"Tororo-jiru."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yam."

"How novel." Newton threw the jar on the bed too and pulled Hermann down for a kiss. Hermann lowered himself slightly to get a more solid grip on him. A soulful noise escaped Newton's lips and he turned around, taking Hermann's arms and wrapping them around himself. Hermann felt his cock throbbing against Newton's backside, suddenly he was much hungrier, more aggressive in his caresses, discovering where Newton wanted to be touched most, desperate to hear his pleading tones. He slid his right hand over his ribs, down over his chest and past his stomach, dangerously low, all the while sucking at his neck as Newton moaned.

"Bed," was all Newton could manage to say and Hermann shuffled them near it until the back of his legs met the side of the mattress. He sat down and Newton carefully lowered himself onto Hermann's thighs.

"I don't know if I can." Newton mumbled 'ok' and started to get up, but Hermann clung to him, pulling him back.

"No _no_, please. _Please_. I _do_ want you, I'm just nervous, I," he buried his face between Newton's shoulder blades. Newton inhaled a shuddering breath as he leaned back into Hermann's tender embrace. He could feel Hermann, very hard, underneath him.

"Am I hurting you? Your leg, I mean?" He could barely speak.

"No, it's quite alright."

Newton took some lubricant from the little jar and applied it as Hermann stroked his pelvis. Hermann closed his eyes for a moment, not out of embarrassment or discretion, but to calm his nerves. Newton put the jar back onto the middle of the bed and allowed himself to be touched. Hermann massaged Newton's entrance for a few moments before working his finger into him, slowly, cautiously, daring to push deeper. He gently pressed his finger into his prostate. With each movement Newton breathed in short moans, barely audible.

"Don't worry," Newton soothed, "More. Oh yeah..." Hermann worked another finger inside him. Soft noises of satisfaction escaped Newton's lips. Hermann was aching to join him.

"I think now perhaps..."

"Yes, yes," Newton agreed fervently as Hermann removed his fingers. Newton lifted himself slightly, his breath hitching as Hermann's fingers left him. His legs were too unsteady with desire to stand and so he balanced himself on Hermann's better leg, his bare feet touching the cool wooden floor. Blindly, Hermann retrieved a condom from the box and rolled it over his prick. He'd never been harder in his life.

"Wait," Newton said and reached for the open jar.

"Let me." Newton closed his eyes at hearing the tenderness in Hermann's voice. Hermann held him tightly as he worked and then guided himself to him. Newton moaned with intense relief from deep yearning, as he eased down and Hermann entered him, slowly. The latter groaned loudly. No sense in denying he felt such pleasure. They both stopped moving for a minute to savour the feeling of Hermann being inside him. Newton began to move himself slowly, up and down.

"Oh, _OH_, my darling man." As soon as Hermann grew accustomed to his encouraging rhythm he started to thrust upward. Newton felt strong and boney hands, desperate, caressing his body, across his chest, over his rib cage, down to his hip bones and back up again. Newton panted rapidly.

"Hermann, God, _oh_!"

They both picked up speed, careful not to rush. Hermann reached in front to take hold of Newton's member, feeling every inch of it, thumbing the head. Newton's moans ended in whimpers. This went on for as long as they could stand it, a minute, then two, then three. Hermann gripped Newt's left side even harder, more to anchor himself than his lover.

"I feel–_hn_– it's happening, I – I, _N-Newton_, I-I'm." Newton held onto the top of Hermann's left, white-knuckled hand, and dug his nails into his own right knee. He could feel Hermann's pleasure ripping through him as he called out, beautifully, powerfully. When Hermann's hand began to lose its grip, Newton took over his other duty and gave himself release, his whole body shuddering, almost yelling in ecstasy.

"Sorry," Hermann breathed as they sat, hot and panting, desperate for air.

"God...man," Newton could barely enunciate, "don't...say _sorry_! You brought me there in the first place." Hermann kissed Newton's neck and the latter leaned back to find the man's mouth. Still out of breath, nearly spent, they used up every last ounce of their most fervent passion to devour eachother's mouths, ending in a languid, crushing embrace.

"Good God, Newton, I don't know whether to laugh or cry." He started to chuckle because the sensation was so wonderful. Pure, unadulterated relief. Newton jointed in. Tears sprang to Hermann's eyes, though he was still smiling. He dropped his chin on Newton's damp shoulder as their breathing subsided.

"Let's face eachother next time. I want to see you when you..."

"Come?"

"I wasn't going to say it out loud."

"I guess 'do you want to, um?' is the closest I'm gonna get to an actual sexual phrase from you, isn't it?"

"Most probably."

The following day, they returned to Hermann's office after discovering that they had not lost their room after all. Pentecost arrived hard on their heels and they dove straight into a discussion of their findings.

"There is no mathematical relationship between octopus attacks," Hermann began, "If they are in fact bred by the Germans, even they could not predict when they attack. However, an increase in size ratio seems to indicate their ambition to attack more and the largest vessels."

"Bigger's not always better though, sir. The largest one, the one that attacked me, its egg, at least the one I have, is underdeveloped. They were expecting the eggs to grow just as large as the adult but it didn't turn out that way."

Pentecost was looking for a quicker way to end the war. He hoped their discoveries would solve the problem.

"At least you can help here at the base," he said," We've lost more men, as you know. For starters, I need you tonight. We've just received information that the Germans are planning to attack the base with a squadron of Heinkel. I suggest you plan to head them off before they arrive."

"Catch Jerry with his trousers down!" Hermann said with uncharacteristic glee. Newton laughed and grinned, shaking his head, looking at Hermann. The Squadron Leader took command of the mission and in the early evening called the men to the mess, Lieutenant Geiszler at his side.

"They plan to arrive at 2200. At 2100 we will maneuver every plane in working order to the edge of the base and take flight. When the Heinkels arrive, they will discover the base empty, and we will attack them from behind. This mission is our most dangerous yet. Annihilate every German aircraft you see. This is not a tactical mission. This is defense. Right? Everyone on the airfield by 2045."

"Pretty sexy, Hermann," Newton said as they were nearly out of earshot. Hermann shushed him furiously. "If that didn't gain respect I don't know what would." Hermann looked at him with pure innocence.

"You really think so?" Newton nodded, pride written all over his face.

The time came. All men assembled. Jaws set. Planes cleared for take off. Men were in the bunker, ready to call for help if anything went wrong. The Germans, punctual to the last, descended as they approached the base. But the boys in blue had them surrounded. They destroyed every German aircraft, but in the final minutes, as Hermann flew away from an enemy aircraft, it fired up at them in its dying moments. Newton was in the gun turret, Browning machine guns blazing, but they were hit.

"Newton, Newton, are you alright?!"

"I'm fine, Hermann, but we gotta bail out." They bailed just in time before the Boulton Paul Defiant hit the deck. Newton ran towards Hermann.

"Hermann, that's _our_ plane! The one we..." he began to cry. Frustrated, heartbroken. Hermann held him tightly as flames erupted around them.

"It doesn't matter, Newton. Whatever happens, we have us."

"What if we don't, Hermann," he said, near hysteria, gripping his arms tightly. Hermann took his head in his hands and looked directly into his face.

"Our memories will never die."

Miraculously, few of the buildings were destroyed. By the following week, as their frequency and intensity of missions decreased, the war was declared over. Although there was still terrible unrest in the world, the end was very near. Newton and Hermann took a walk and found a rather sunny clearing a mile from the base. Newton was lying on his back, looking up at the clouds, his head in Hermann's lap. Hermann ran his fingers through his hair fondly.

"Newton, dear," Hermann began softly. Newton smiled.

"Yeah, honey?"

"I've been thinking. We need a place of our own." Newton got up and gaped at Hermann.

"Are you asking me to live with you?"

"Yes, I believe I am."

"Hermann," Newton said, disbelieving, happy beyond words.

"You wouldn't mind a–a life of sodomy...with me? We'd be breaking the law. It's illegal..."

"Since when has that stopped me from doing anything? And anyway, that's not all we'd be doing."

"True."

"Last time I checked bickering isn't illegal." Hermann smiled and Newton kissed him.

They journeyed to the cottage, _their_ cottage, the next day. Pentecost had advised them to continue their work in case it became relevant at some point in the future. Both Newton and Hermann applied for teaching positions in the same area and waited for their replies. In the mean time, Newton was still enamored of his...pet and tried to engage it as much as possible. One day in the outbuilding, he set one of the ladders he used for dropping things in the tank up against it. Carefully, he reached in, in an attempt to touch the creature. To his surprise, it responded, and wrapped one of his tentacles around his arm.

"Newton, get down from there immediately!"

"Hey Hermann, look! I'm bonding with it!"

"You are the absolute limit! You couldn't be a vet, could you? No, you have to mess about with giant Nazi octopi." Newton was just about to protest when a second tentacle joined the first and began to pull him into the tank.

"Newton!" Hermann rushed up the ladder and caught his feet. He could barely hold on. He took a chance and with one hand clutching Newton's trouser leg, he whacked the tentacles with his cane until the creature let go. Newton slipped away but Hermann caught him in time and former grabbed the edge of the tank with a wet hand. Hermann helped the gasping, dripping man down the ladder and onto the floor. He repeated his name again several times, not letting go.

"Speak to me!"

"I'm ok now, I'm fine," Newton said, badly shaken. Hermann swept some of Newton dripping hair off his forehead. Miraculously, Newton's glasses had stayed on, and Hermann wiped them off for him. As Newton put them back on he jumped and gripped Hermann's arm.

"You really enjoy being bait, don't you Lieutenant Geiszler." Hannibal Chau's colorful band of thugs had them at gunpoint.


	8. Conjugate

"How the hell did you find us," Newton said as he and Hermann struggled to stand up.

"That pathetic trail of sea water you've been dripping halfway across England, maybe? You think I couldn't figure out where Pentecost operates from?" Hannibal Chau advanced, anger rising in his voice, "You think I couldn't keep tabs on you, your plane, your location. You know, not everyone imports 50,000 gallons of sea water, 500 pounds of seafood, and 630 square feet of industrial strength aquarium glass into the heart of the countryside!"

"What do you want?" Newton asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Take a wild guess."

"You've got all the rest of them! You really want this one?" Newton said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

"We lost a few. And the ones we didn't lose we harvested and sold," Chau explained.

"And you really want this one too?" Newton repeated, becoming distraught.

"I don't want it, I need it."

"And how the hell are you gonna get it out of here? As far as I know there's no such thing as a fishbowl on wheels!"

"I'm not going to take it outta here alive. Im gonna cut it up and throw it in the back of a transport vehicle."

"No! No, you can't do that! This is scientific research! Thi-this is government property!"

"I don't give a shit!"

"Well it's mine! You owed it to me anyway!"

"I owe you nothing!"

"Get off this property!" Newton pointed at Chau, shaking with rage. Hermann gripped his arm in an effort to hold him back.

"I'm not going anywhere!" Chau's men advanced, guns pointed straight at them. "Get these two out of the way," he added, gesturing to Newton and Hermann, who both backed up instinctively. Two of Chau's thugs took them by the shoulders, pushed them to the side and held them at gunpoint. Chau ordered the rest of his gang to break the tank. Equipped with the remains of a broken anti-aircraft gun, several of Chau's men slammed into the glass like it was a battering-ram. The glass creaked.

"No!" Newton screamed. Hermann looked at him with great concern. Again they rammed the tank and a faint crack could be heard.

"You're crazy! You know how much water is going to rush at us all?!"

"Aim higher!" Chau commanded. Another slam. Another crack. A zig-zag fracture spiked up to the top of her tank. Newton was beside himself. Hermann was breathing heavily. Chau's men pulled back and then there was a click, the loud, unmistakable click of a Duke's Enfield revolver. All motion stopped. Everyone turned to see Wing Commander Pentecost standing in the doorway. Though guns were still pressed to their heads, Newton and Hermann's hearts were uplifted.

"My aim's perfect," Stacker said with icy confidence, the revolver dwarfed in his powerful hand.

"Pentecost," Chau said, casually putting his hands in his pockets, "You're outnumbered."

"I'm quite certain you are," Pentecost said unflinchingly. From behind him stepped two, three, four men, all holding revolvers. They were shortly followed by another group of men until they outnumbered Chau's thugs two to one.

"Drop you guns now," Pentecost commanded calmly; the thunder behind his words was something no one could ignore. Chau's men lowered the piece of make-shift battering ram and all their guns to the floor. Newton and Hermann relaxed as Stacker's men lead the octopus thieves out the building.

"We've got a lot of sorting out to do, Chau," Stacker said as he steered the man out of the building.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," he called over his shoulder to Geiszler and Gottlieb, not taking his eyes off Chau. As soon as they were alone, Newton and Hermann embraced. Soft declarations of love were muffled by their shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, Hermann," Newton said, holding his hands and looking down, "This is all because of me." Hermann squeezed his hands and jerked them in such a way as to get Newton to look up at him.

"You weren't to know, Newton. It was a miracle he found us at all," Hermann said. Then he leaned forward a little, his brow creased, "You weren't to know, my dear." Newton was encouraged by the tenderness in Hermann's voice, especially his use of the words 'my dear.' Newton nodded, sill a little guilty. He swallowed.

"I have to check on her."

"Oh yes, of course," Hermann said, making way for him, but Newton would not allow him to let go of his hand. Hermann, in turn, allowed himself to be lead to the tank. The octopus could not be found at first. Newton did not bang on the glass or even call for her.

"God, she must be so traumatized," Newton said under his breath. Hermann squeezed his left hand. Newton suddenly pulled him close and whispered. "Look, there she is." He pointed to something in the water, very far back in the dark corner, opposite the crack. It was a tentacle curling around one of her many jars. Newton put his right hand on the glass, unable to reach her. Hermann tugged at his hand gently.

"Perhaps we should brace the tank, Newton."

"Yeah, Christ, how are we gonna do that?"

"Perhaps adhere something to the glass."

"Yeah," Newton breathed, running his hands through his hair, dropping Hermann's hand. Hermann walked up to the tank and stared up at the thin crack. "Something flexible,' Newton added. Just then Stacker returned.

"He's all strapped in gentleman. I would have been back sooner but one of our tires needed to be replaced. Newton spun around; there was hope in his eyes.

"Hey! Can we have the blown tire?" With the help of Pentecost's men (the ones who weren't standing guard over Chau and company), Newton was able to brace the top of the tank with partially melted tire and some metal bracketing. During installation, Newton flashed a smile at Hermann from atop the ladder. Hermann couldn't help but smile back, seeing Newton happy. _The man is so enamored of these creatures_, he thought to himself. At first he thought Newton's enthusiasm manic, insane even, but now, he was starting to understand. Hermann had once given a professor that sort of happy look when he had understood a mathematical theory. It was when he understood something greater than himself. _Perhaps that is what Newton is feeling_, he added mentally, _the importance of something greater than himself_. After an hour or so, Wing Commander Pentecost took his leave and Chau's menace with him. Newton and Hermann were alone once more. Almost. Newton began to fill a 2-gallon glass jar with various sea-life from the smaller aquarium in a corner of the outbuilding.

"Peace offering," Newton said to Hermann with a lopsided grin. Hermann watched nervously as Newton hauled the now heavier jar up the ladder, let water inside it and lowered it near the frightened octopus. When Newton returned to the ground, they watched with bated breath. Newton hoped against hope that she would emerge from the shadows. An hour went by. Hermann began to lean on Newton to take the weight off his leg and Newton wrapped his arm tightly around his waist. Newton felt the urge to leave the tank, but then, a tentacle reached out with painful slowness to the jar. Newton sucked a quiet breath into his mouth. Hermann held onto Newton more tightly, more with excitement for him than the need for support. They watched, spellbound, as the creature dexterously opened the jar and dragged it back into the corner. Newton became disappointed, sagging slightly, but after a few minutes, several tentacles stretched out into the dim light in the front of the tank. Halfway between the dark and the light, an eye could be seen. Newton pressed himself up against the glass. Tentatively, an arm reached up to the glass and many suckers adhered themselves to the glass in front of Newton. Newton placed a hand on the glass at the same point. Hermann breathed in, totally in awe of Newton's connection with the creature. The arm soon retreated but Newton could not have been happier. Hermann corrected himself mentally, _No, not greater than himself, equal to._ He was almost as reluctant to leave as Newton was. They walked out into the early evening sun with their arms still around eachother's waists.

"What are you going to name her? Or have you already done so?" Hermann asked, his voice lighter than usual.

"Theodora," newton said after a short pause.

"What does that mean?"

"It's Greek. It means 'gift from God.'"

"Exactly what I was thinking," Hermann said, leaning down slightly so Newton would get the point. He did, and grinned more broadly than ever. After a meager yet pleasant dinner, Newton headed up to take a shower. Hermann went up a few minutes later. He smiled to himself thinking of Newton's wet, naked body and the possibilities of the evening that could unfold. He lovingly patted the man's uniform that he'd tossed on the bed. He puzzled as he felt some paper beneath it. Thinking it was the two letters he'd sent him, he pulled them out to read them again for the fiftieth time. But to his astonishment, they were two entirely different letters. The return address was Westminster. Hermann sat on the lone chair in the room, lost for words. Newton came into the room wearing only a towel.

"Hey, baby," Newton said cheerfully until he could see that Hermann was stone-faced and upset. "What's wrong? Oh." His eyes fell on the letters.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hermann's voice was trembling with hurt, rage. Newton swallowed.

"Hermann, I can explain."

"When did these arrive?"

"Yesterday, I swear. I was gonna talk to you about it this morning and then Chai arrived..."

"They're unopened."

"Yes, I-I couldn't face opening mine. And I didn't want you to read yours, not just yet. I mean, what if..." Newton's eyes were fogging up, "What if one of us was rejected and what if it was you and you felt like a failure and worse than that...What if you got excepted and I didn't? You'd think I was a failure, pathetic and you'd be the breadwinner and I'd be a bum, a nobody..." Hermann had tried to cut him off two sentences back but now he pounced.

"Newton," he said, his anger gone, "You really believe I could ever think of you as a failure?"

"No," Newton said unconvincingly, not making eye contact, wiping his tears away.

"My dear, I could never think that of you."

"You mean it?"

"Certainly." Hermann handed Newton his letter and began to open his. "Let's read them together."

"OK," Newton said, nodding his head after swallowing again. They both unfolded the letters. Hermann kept his eyes on Newton.

"Let's read them aloud together." Newton nodded again.

"Dear Newton/Hermann," They both read, "I am pleased to inform you," they looked at one another, daring to hope, "that you have been accepted as..." Hermann sprang to his feet just as Newton moved to embrace him. They gripped eachother very tightly in the knowledge that they would both be teaching at the prestigious Westminster School. They would be together.

"I need to sit down," Hermann said, practically shaking. Newton helped him to the chair and sat at his feet. He leaned on the knee of Hermann's better leg. They both looked at their letters, reading them over to make sure it hadn't been a mirage, looking at eachother every few moments with a smile of happy disbelief. Silent minutes passed by and Newton spoke.

"Why don't you have a shower?" he said, stroking Hermann's knee.

"No, I shan't. I was actually thinking of rubbing some ointment into my leg and heading off to bed." Hermann placed a hand on Newton's.

"Want me to?" Newton said hopefully. Hermann nodded, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Newton fetched the ointment and began to massage the cream into Hermann's damaged leg. Though the wound was healed the scaring was almost completely permanent. Newton asked him if it felt better but Hermann deliberately didn't reply to get Newton to look at him.

"Why don't you try higher up?" Hermann said quietly, not breaking his gaze.

"I thought the injury was down - oh!" Newton slid his hand up Hermann's trousers and started to rub the already hard bulge that awaited him. Hermann shifted his hips up as he closed his eyes and licked his lips. Newton was so aghast at Hermann's uncharacteristically sexual action that he stopped rubbing.

"Take it out please," Hermann said, fighting the urge to guide Newton hand to the desired action.

"Sounds like you could be talking about a soufflé," Newton joked nervously, but Hermann took no notice and awaited Newton's hand. He felt the man unfasten his trousers and slid a hand him to take hold of him. Hermann melted at the touch. Newton got up to his knees and the towel slipped off his hips. With his left hand he held onto Hermann's thigh and with his right, delicately pulled Hermann's plump cock out of his trousers. Newton took the tip of Hermann's shaft into his mouth.

"Good heavens!" Hermann exclaimed. He looked down at Newton. Newton sucked off.

"Is this ok?" Hermann nodded, the pleasure rising in his chest and groin. Newton took the man's swollen head back in his mouth, wrapping his lips around him. He began to work him up and down, his saliva making the member in question very slick. Hermann reached down between his legs to find the back of Newton's head, the hair still damp from the shower. Newton moaned around him, cupped his balls and took more of him in all at once. Hermann called out. After a minute when Hermann fought to regain his composure he looked down.

"I think perhaps we should move to the bed," he said weakly. Newton, flushed, slipped him out of his open mouth. He got up, his own hardness exposed, and helped Hermann to his feet. They worked together to remove Hermann's clothing, wildly kissing with every opportunity, and soon their naked bodies were folded together. Neither had to speak. Hermann had deliberately placed himself under Newton and had crooked his good leg up and out to indicate who was entering who. Newton's tattooed chest was plastered against Hermann's blank one as he kissed his neck. He reached for the supplies that they'd stashed under the bed. He applied some lubricant to his fingers before gently working into Hermann's soft entrance. He felt Hermann's hands graze his nipples, fondle his ribcage, and slide around his back. Hermann's soft grunts spurred him on to add a second finger. Newton opened him wider and Hermann ground into his abdomen. Newton removed his fingers with the sudden need to move to the next step. Hermann let out a noise of displeasure. After a few moments of shifting and sitting up, Newton rolled a condom over himself and added more lube. Hermann pulled him down again the second he was taken care of. Newton positioned his dick at Hermann's awaiting ingress. He eased in. Hermann keened. Soon, Newton was enveloped by Hermann's heat but he couldn't savor it for long. Hermann arched his back and Newton began to trust slowly.

"Take me in hand, Newton," he commanded softly, deep and full of lust. Newton complied, his eyes hooded with overwhelming urge. He gripped the headboard with his left hand and Hermann with his right. Hermann brought his right hand to join him, his left hand holding Newton's ass. it didn't take them long to find a rhythm they agreed on. Precision could wait. They made love with more abandonment than when Hermann had entered Newton. Hermann whispered "yes, yes, yes" like a broken record. Newton bucked with great enthusiasm and precious little finesse.

"Hermann, I-I'm getting close," Newton warned. A second later he managed to graze Hermann's most sensitive inner spot, and was rewarded with a groan that made him use whatever was left of his brain to find again. Somehow Hermann managed to speak.

"Oh...Newton..." he panted, "bang on." Newton was on the edge and the use of this comically British slang set him on a laugh that tumbled into the most glorious orgasm of his life. Hermann got his wish of seeing Newton come and he was not disappointed. Besides the shared stimulation of his tumescence, the mere sight of Newton losing control sent Hermann off too. His own release spattered Newton's inked chest as he whimpered, watching the man above him. Newton's head was thrown back and his mouth was open, almost forming a smile. He fell onto Hermann in a damp heap after their waves of pleasure had subsided. Newton resumed a now exhausted laugh. Hermann kissed his neck.

"I don't think I've ever laughed right before I came, before."

"It was glorious," Hermann said with a smile himself.

"I'm sorry I laughed but it was so endearing, you using a slang like that at _that_ precise moment."

"I'm so glad you enjoyed it," Hermann said sarcastically, unable to be truly offended. Their breathing returned to normal and Newton began to get restless. He kissed Hermann languidly and the latter stroked his face.

"It wasn't my intension that we'd end up in bed together."

"Like hell it wasn't," Newton scoffed, very pleased with how the evening had transformed. Hermann smirked.

"Preparing to disengage, sir!" Newton said saluting, eliciting an amused "HA!" of surprise from Hermann as he did so. After he had washed himself off, he settled back into bed and they nestled together and fell into a heavy orgasm-induced sleep. The next morning Hermann came down the stairs in his dressing gown to find Newton making breakfast. The smell of eggs and toast filled the kitchen. He kissed Newton on the cheek.

"Good morning my little cephalopod groupie." Newton burst out laughing.

"What?! Seriously, what the hell does that mean?"

"Surely, by now, you must know that 'groupie' means group captain." Newton shook his head, still laughing. "And you're a commander of octopuses, so... Well, it was my sad attempt at a pet name for you." Hermann opened the newspaper and Newton flopped a couple eggs on Hermann's plate, setting it in front of him.

"It was very sweet," Newton said with a kiss. Hermann gave him a sour look.

"And talking of cephalopods, I've been meaning to ask you; why do you have a single squid on one arm?"

"Oh, yeah," Newton said, sitting down with his own plate of food, "Um..." They began to eat. "I was really into squid first, and then after the tattoo, I really got into octopuses and the rest of the inking sorta spiraled out of control." Hermann acknowledged that he understood. They finished their meal in comfortable silence.

"Newton," Hermann said, waiting until he had the man's undivided attention, "I rather enjoyed our amorous congress last night."

"Always an understatement with you," Newton said. He kissed his mouth, the taste of their nourishing breakfast on their lips. He cleared their plates away. They spent the rest of the morning writing letters to the headmaster of Westminster School.* Although they would have to move to London, they would keep the cottage as well. Newton arranged for members of the British secret service (and scientists sworn to secrecy) to monitor Theodora, to feed her and make sure she never got bored. After they had discussed everything until they couldn't anymore, Newton got up from the table.

"OK, present-time."

"What?"

"You'll see." Newton returned with something behind his back. He told Hermann to close his eyes. Hermann heard a clunk on the table in front of him. He looked down to see a hunk of metal. He didn't know what to think for a moment or two until it dawned on him what it must be. It was a piece of the clapped out Boulton Paul Defiant they had flown and crashed together.

"I saved what I could."

"It means that much to you?"

"It's our plane." Hermann couldn't speak for tears and pulled Newton onto his lap. Neither let go for several minutes.

A week later, after an early start, they were off to their new flat in Westminster. It was a beautiful morning in London as they approached the white fronted terrace with pillars and darkly painted doors.

"I wish I could have carried you over the threshold," Hermann said once they had shut the door behind them.

"No, I would have carried _you_ in. And besides, the neighbors might object." Hermann became more serious than usual, but with bittersweet joy on his face. He took Newton in his arms.

"So you don't mind spending the rest of your foreseeable future with this nobby old lag, then?" Newton gave him a deep sensuous kiss.

"You mean an upper-crust airman with a lot of experience? No, that's why I'm standing here in _our_ apartment."

"You're picking up the lingo!"

"I can learn."

"I would marry you if I could, you know?" Hermann said in total seriousness. Newton simply could not speak for several seconds.

"Hermann, really?

"Yes."

"I would too."

"To me?"

"I think you're the only person who'd be worth it."

**THE END**

_(sequel to follow in the next few months)_

_*FYI, John Christie was the headmaster of Westminster School from 1937-1950_


End file.
